The Wolf, the Beauty, the Bird and the Hound
by JenniferofHouseStark
Summary: I've wanted to write some smutty SanSan fic for ages, but I didn't have the guts. So I've opted for a full story with cameos from other characters to give it a back drop and then place sansan in there when they are finally alone. Contains spoilers for both show and books.
1. Prologue

Prologue:

The day was hot with an unbroken blue sky, a perfect picture of silence, if not for the tourney going on beneath it. With each joust came a louder roar, more deafening than the last, and Sansa Stark wanted nothing more than for the screams and shouts to obliterate everything until she could neither see nor hear anymore. It would mean she did not have to sit next to Joffrey, who leapt up every so often with shouts of WELL DONE and then turning back to lean over her and say:

"Didn't you like that, my lady?"

"There was an awful lot of blood, your grace…" She had replied once.

"Of course there was," Joffrey had said, "He had a spear put through his head. What did you think would come spurting out, honey?" He had then sat down as the next jousters made their way to the opposite ends of the track, saying "Just typical of a stupid girl to think such a thing. If you had seen just _how much _blood can come out of a man you'd faint."

"Of course I would, your grace." _Hardly, _she thought, _it would be _you _who would faint if you saw just how much comes out of me. _

Her thoughts were disturbed yet again by the King shouting beside her. The two knights on horseback were beginning the charge. She craned her neck forward slightly, yearning for a better look. Despite the constant darkness she felt consumed by, the tourney always gave her stomach a slight fluttering feeling, reminding her of days past.

The very ground _thundered_ as the horses charged by, clashing together like rocks smashing into one another as they tumble off a cliff. The rider on the other side of the pole was sent crashing from his horse, which gave an ear-piercing scream as it went down with him. Whoever was still seated, remained perfectly still upon his enormous black horse, holding his jousting rod with an intensity that embodied him. It was only when Joffrey stood and congratulated him that Sansa realised who he was, and also what her King had promised to the winner.

"Well done dog," Said the boy King, raising his head to make the crown on it look more as if it belonged there, "do step up and kiss the hand of my lady. That was the prize."

The eyes of the King were now on Sansa and her body tensed, but not because of what he hoped. As Sandor Clegane dismounted and made his way up the steps to where they were seated, Sansa could feel her hands become hot. Those eyes drew nearer to her, and she stood, equal height to Joffrey. She stepped down to meet the Hound, her hand outstretched. If the Gods were merciful, she wouldn't tremble. She couldn't let Joffrey see. Suddenly he was in front of her. Suddenly she felt the heat from his own huge hand engulfing hers and raised her eyes to Clegane. Amongst the seared, raw flesh on _that_ side of his face, his eyes had been on her. Now they were down, as if he were afraid to look her in the eye so closely. And then, his lips were on her hand. They were rough and calloused, the mouth of someone who had been forced into fire and been left with a madman's nightmare for a face. Sansa could feel her face softening and her lips parting, amazed how tender his kiss on her hand was. This was not at all how she had imagined he would kiss someone, if the stories she had heard were to be believed. So many people had depicted him to be a brute as ugly in his mind as his face was, but surely not even the Knight of Flowers could kiss a maiden's hand the way the Hound did. But behind her she knew Joffrey was wondering why it was taking so long.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

There was an icy breeze kissing the air as Sansa Stark stood alone in the clearing. Her black velvet hooded cloak swept about her as if the wind was trying to dance with it. She didn't mind; it reminded her of the way her mother's skirts had swished together when she walked the halls of Winterfell, back before the old hand of the King had died, before King Robert had come north and left again for the South, dragging half her family with him and leaving the rest a tattered, scattered ruin in his wake. And now here she was, alone with the wind edging its way further up her body in woods a million miles from anywhere. Winterfell had been burned, the Boltons holding it with their cursed iron hands and King's Landing was no doubt looking for her this very moment to drag her back into the path of Cersei's twisted rage. No longer Joffrey's, thankfully. Despite the awful images she saw of him in her dreams, she was still glad he was gone. And Lord Baelish. When she thought of him, how he had kissed her in the garden of the Eyrie, and even how her heart had raced for a split second, she was filled with a shameful rage. It only angered her to think of that wretched boy Robert, her _sweetrobin _who was the most spoiled, insufferable brat she had ever met. He was just as bad as Joffrey. Maybe even worse. His mother hadn't seen how terrible he was. Catelyn's sister.

At the thought of her own mother Sansa's grief swelled up inside her afresh. She could feel her hands trembling. She hadn't had the chance to say goodbye, to tell her she was sorry for every time she had been disobedient, all the arguments with Arya and the boys, everything. She couldn't even find her now, to tell her how sorry she was, how much she loved her, how much she had wanted to be like Catelyn.

All the while she was in the Eyrie, she thought that part of her had died at the Red Wedding. But on her descent from the Vale of Arryn, there came a breath of fresh air, a ray of light with an enormous bulking body and stunning eyes.

"More wood for the fire, lady Sansa." Brienne, maid of Tarth, came through the trees. Sansa turned to look at her with a warmth she suspected the she-knight would never know. Sitting down and wrapping herself tighter in her cloak, she quietly said,

"Do you have any idea what will happen now?"

Brienne turned to her, but could stare at her for a moment. She came at sat next to her. _Brienne the beauty, _Sansa thought. _How could anyone be so cruel to someone so selfless? _

"I'm afraid not, my lady," Said Brienne, "All we can do for now is stay out of sight and hope no one recognises either of us, should we cross paths with anyone."

"_Who's there?" _A shrill, harsh voice suddenly came through the clearing. Brienne leapt to her feet, surprisingly fast for someone of her bulk. Within a heartbeat she drew her sword, standing with her body shielding Sansa. The sound of pounding hooves could be heard, and their own horses began to whine. Sansa stood, coming close to Brienne, her hands clenching the folds of her cloak, voicing a silent prayer that their attackers were friends to the Winterfell of old.

In answer to her prayer, a small brown horse came through the trees, astride it a filthy, brown haired, scrawny boy. _What a sight_, she thought, staring in repulsion up at him. Brienne did not lower her sword.

"Who are you, boy?" She growled, and lurched for him, dragging him to the ground, but not before he had pulled a blade to defend himself. Like a squirming puppy he twisted in her grip, slashing at her until she pulled the knife away, and said louder into his, no- _her _face –

"_Who are you?" _

At that point, another horse, much bigger and black in colour, charged into sight with a man as big as Brienne atop it, but Sansa was uninterested. She ran for Brienne, and the girl in her grasp.

"Let her go!" She pleaded the big woman, and from Brienne's grip she pulled, yes, it was Arya. From under the greasy tufts of hair Arya looked up in shock, and their eyes met. Could this really be her little sister? But then again, somehow dressed in boy's breeches with a sword at her hip was just how Arya _looked. _As the sisters stared at each other, in still silence, Brienne between them, the reality hit Sansa. It was as raw and real as the icy wind, as the deep breathing of the black horse a few feet away. _She's alive. She escaped from King's Landing when Father was executed. She's been alive this whole time. She's still alive. _A voice in Sansa's head kept saying it over and over again, as if she didn't say it enough Arya would vanish and melt back into the woods, a child of the forest. But the children of the forest were long gone, a story told to the girls by Old Nan. Arya was real, she was alive, she was here. It would seem the seven had deemed this prayer one of the few they would actually answer.

Arya had still said nothing. Sansa suddenly needed to hear her voice, and with a childish demand said,

"Well _say _something!"

"Sansa." Arya's voice was lower than she remembered. But that didn't stop the pair from throwing their arms around each other. Arya was covered in dirt, she smelled of mud and no doubt it was all leaving its mark on Sansa's gown, but then she told herself to grow up. _She's your sister. You have believed her dead all this time. Surely she is more important than your stupid dress. _At that, the memory of Arya throwing an orange at her at the table with Father in King's Landing came back to her, and she began to cry. She heard a few sniffles, and Arya was weeping as well. They sank to their knees, and Sansa felt the dirt seep through her clothes and onto her skin. She was now more aware of the earth beneath her, the wind around her, and the black sky above her. _It's because of my sister. She's a wolf. So am I. We are stronger with our pack. _

"But…" Sansa said, bringing her sister back to look her in the face, "How did you…"

Arya's stare moved behind Sansa. She heard the drawing of a sword, Brienne making an angry shout,

"My lady, _stay back!" _And then another voice, rasping and hoarse which chilled Sansa still,

"Why bother, you big brute of a bitch? I haven't hurt the little wolf and I don't bloody want to hurt the little bird, either."

"_You STAY BACK!" _

"_BRIENNE DON'T!" _Sansa rushed round and with every strength grabbed Brienne's arms to stop her sword striking that of Sandor Clegane's. She turned, and there he was. Some nights she would raise her fingers to her lips to remember the kiss beneath a sky filled with green smoke and the stench of death. And yes, there were the burns. His eyes were fixed on her, those eyes which had been white with a terrifying anger the night of the Blackwater, never moving, impossible to see the feelings beneath.

"Little bird." His voice was trembling. His mouth twitched. The kiss came to Sansa again. She couldn't say why, but it kept repeating itself in her head like a song, a gentle tune that made her palms sweat. She was unbelievably glad to see him. Much more than she knew.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

There was a steady fire crackling which had just been building since the four of them had made a combined camp. Sansa could feel Brienne's anger next to her as she moved a piece of cloth up and down her sword again and again. Arya was on her other side, her head resting on her shoulder. Sandor was sat opposite the trio, staring into the flames. She continued to look at him, and when his eyes found her she didn't look away, to her own amazement. _Are you remembering? _She wanted to ask. _Do you remember that kiss? What made you want to kiss me? _There was an unreadable emotion in his face, and his mouth twitched. She wanted to go to him.

She still wanted to the next morning, as the group made its way north. There was no concealing Brienne's displeasure at Sandor's joining them. The line of four horses went Arya, Sansa, and then Brienne as a wall between her and him. Every so often Sansa would look across to him, and one time she thought she had caught him looking at her. When they all stopped to make a small camp, after several arguments between Sandor and Brienne about location, Sansa wanted nothing more than to help him make a fire, but Brienne came roughly between them and did it herself. There was a poisonous tension between Brienne and Sandor that was constantly seething beneath the surface- well, it was certainly that way for Brienne, Sansa noticed. Sandor would insult her at given opportunity but when difficult manual tasks fell before the group he would take them up silently until she pushed him aside. He didn't question it; he simply walked away with a mumble.

When she was certain that both Arya and Brienne were asleep Sansa got up and made her way over to where Sandor lay as quietly as she could. He was lying on his back, hands on his chest moving up and down gently with his breathing. She stood over him, gazing at his arms. If she thought back far enough she could still remember when those arms had come around her to protect her from the mob that had tried to pull her from her horse, the tight grip that promised she was safe.

"You were the last person I expected to find in the woods with that bitch from Tarth," His voice made her tense. He opened his eyes and looked up at her. "The last time I found a Stark standing over me she was about to smash my skull in with a rock, the stupid little cunt." He gave a malicious look over to where Arya was curled up.

"I'm sorry," Was all Sansa could say in an awkward, hushed voice. With a glance over to the other two she then said, "Have you really been looking after Arya this whole time? Since you left King's Landing?"

"I ran into her at that buggering brotherhood," Sandor replied, sitting up with his arms resting on his knees, "And I thought I could sell her to your mother at the Twins before it got a bit bloody. Been stuck with her ever since."

"Thank you." Sansa's words hung in the air creating the most awkward silence. He was so hateful towards everything and everyone yet he had done so much for her, far too much. _Another debt I owe him, _she thought, remembering the mob, the beating in court, the cloak, the dabbing at her bleeding lip, _another favour I can never repay. _

"You married the imp," Said Sandor, his voice a raw snarl. His eyes were full of contempt.

"They made me," She replied quickly, wanting to forget that day. At the very mention of it she could feel him tugging at the bottom of her gown. She was just thankful Sandor hadn't been there to see it. It had to be the one time she was glad he had left King's Landing. Every other day she would walk the halls and courtyards expecting to turn a corner and find him lurking on the other side, his face close to hers, his long arm extended to the wall blocking her path-

"She's alive because of you," She said quickly before anything unexpected came tumbling out, with another look at Arya. She had heard of the carnage that had torn through the Twins. Arya would have wanted to go in there and find Mother, cutting down anyone who got in her way. He had saved her life by pulling her out. "As I owe you my life."

Sandor gave her that look where she could feel him looking right into her mind.

"No," That was his final word. With that he turned away from her, she imagined to get some sleep. With a tiny sigh, the frustration of not being able to say something that she couldn't even fathom, she walked away.

As she lay down and closed her eyes, it was either her imagination or yearning, but something made her hear:

"I owe you mine."


	4. Chapter 3

Sansa was sat turning dinner on a spit. Sandor had gone back again to the small creek a short ride away to spear more fish for the fire. Arya and Brienne were making good use of the huge open spaces the forest provided, in fact, as a good spot for a fight.

"You're incredibly light on your feet, Lady Arya," Brienne remarked, as the youngest Stark made a light jump away from her blade Oathkeeper.

"I'm not a lady. I'm a water dancer," Arya shot back, leaping around as if she had been born on her tip toes. Sansa had been horrified when she had looked up and saw Arya in a tree leaping about slashing with her sword, letting the leaves and branches fall. However she was impressed how easily Arya took to the air when there were too few branches so she had to drop with them, landing on her feet, and continued on her self-devised routine, slicing at the trunk. Sansa had seen Brienne look over at Arya and make a slightly different expression each time until she was suddenly up and standing a few feet from Arya, telling her how to hold her weight and how to position her hands on the hilt.

"You'll have better control if you hold it with both hands," Brienne was saying.

"Needle is light enough to hold with one, it is as heavy as I need it to be, and good for my balance." Arya rejected.

_She really did listen to that dancing master, _Sansa thought to herself, _what was his name, something Forel? Syrio, was it? _

It was a strange sight- Brienne standing at over 6 feet with her feet planted firmly into the ground as if she were a tree trunk, and small Arya flitting around her like a leaf on the wind, muttering the occasional sentence, something like,

"Light as a feather," or "quiet as a shadow." It was hard for the Maid of Tarth to hide how impressed she was. The same could be said for Arya- she had never before seen another female who enjoyed the sword more than the song. Sansa noticed as she became more confident she began smiling up at Brienne and her swordplay became more confident.

"Dead," Arya said, making a sudden plunge for Brienne's knee,

"Dead," She said again, when Brienne bent her knees to take a lower mock stab at her,

"_Very dead,_" When Brienne raised her sword above her head.

"Your armour," Arya explained without any hint of arrogance, "It weighs you down. You shouldn't wear any."

"But how else would I keep my body safe?" Brienne asked, looking at the girl, trying not to smile.

"With speed," Arya said, "Quick as a snake," She dashed around Brienne, "smooth as silk. Swift as a deer."

"That's certainly a good tactic," Brienne spoke with all the respect people only usually show Lords, Sansa noticed, "But you also need to keep your head planted on the ground. Know it. Know where you're putting your foot better than your opponent. Lunge and use your weight as a weapon, both intimidation and power."

Arya stood to one side patiently as Brienne demonstrated. The fish was beginning to smoke but Sansa just had to carry on watching the pair.

A sudden clump of wood being thrown into the flames alerted her that Sandor had returned. From a stitched bag he drew two more dead fish, placing them near to the fire so Sansa could start turning them. She noticed he had sat much closer to her than he probably intended, and with an awkward glance downwards she realised their legs were almost touching. Taking a deep breath, she made her shoulders drop, whereas before they had been tense. She wondered if, next to her, he was having the same thoughts racing around in his mind in a panic. _Does he want me to say something? _She tightened her lips. _Why is it so awkward? _Because there was no other word for it: awkward. There hung a silence between them, only animated by the crackling of the fire on the logs and the occasional clash between the two nearby swords and words of exchange between their bearers. _I wonder if it was like this between him and Arya. No, Arya is too headstrong. She would have been too busy practicing with her sword to care about conversation. _But she was not her sister. She _did _want to be able to talk to Sandor, but there was too much surrounding him. She couldn't say what, but it was the same with Brienne. They were both two private. But whereas Sandor could down several flagons of wine and roar about his past (well, to Sansa he had), Brienne kept hers barred behind walls higher than that of Winterfell. If only she could find a subject she could keep going…

"Were they hard to catch?" She blurted, "The fish."

"No." His answer was blunt. _That's that, I suppose. _She stared glumly at the fish, expecting them to suddenly give her something she could speak with Sandor about.

"I beg pardon, Ser," She began, then realised. _He hates knights._ Next to her, Clegane laughed, his voice the sound of a sword scraping on rock.

"You're still living in a song, aren't you?" He rasped, "Still repeating all the pretty little things they taught you, little bird."

"No I'm not," She objected, "I stopped doing whatever people want me to do a long time ago. The Lannisters wanted me to stay in King's Landing, but I left. Tyrion Lannister wanted to come into my bed, but I wouldn't let him," Sansa stopped, and swallowed her words, shocked at her own outburst. She shot a nervous glance at Sandor. His mouth twitched.

"Bloody good for you, girl," He slowly spoke after a few seconds, "You shite on his head and flew away. I'm fucking glad."

She turned away. _He still thinks I am a child. Just a stupid little bird that will fly wherever it is told, no matter what I tell him. I've flowered, been married, everything a woman has ever done. It makes no difference. _Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"I am glad he didn't touch you," His voice was low, an almost hollow sound. "I'm glad you didn't let him." She looked back at him. His face showed an expression of respect. In the Red Keep, he had always looked at her in a way that made her unable to look back at him, which was why he had always assumed she was afraid of him, and rightly. But now she found she was able to.

Before she could say anything however, he was suddenly on his feet, his hand leaving her shoulder leaving it cold, marching over to Brienne and Arya whilst barking:

"For god's sake if you fight like that it's a fucking wonder you're still alive...here's how you bloody well do it…"

"Not everyone fights the same as you, hound." Brienne spat, turning her attention back to Arya.

"If they did they'd be alive and _I'd_ be the one in the ground, not the other way round…"

"Arya, watch-no- watch me, hold your sword like this, standing…legs like so… and hold. Wait for your enemy to strike the first blow…"

"_No _- you need to hit hard and fast whilst they're weak."

"Defence is the best attack…"

"Fuck that- attack before they can defend…"

Soon Brienne and the Hound stood at full equal height spitting poison at each other with Arya between them, looking up at them the way Father used to look at Sansa and Arya when they used to squabble as infants. As the argument escalated Arya put her sword away and stood with her arms folded, one eyebrow raised, leaning on one foot.

Eventually Sansa could stand it no longer.

"Will the pair of you _stop_ arguing," Her voice cut across the clearance to them, "And just sit down and eat something!"

They shot a death look at each other and reluctantly came to accept some smoked fish from her. Arya however remained where she was, and drew Needle, saying,

"Actually you were both wrong."

On that remark both Sandor and Brienne's heads shot up, as Sansa could feel her efforts being wasted. "About how to stand," Continued Arya, "It's better to stand sideways. There's less of a target. If you're facing them, they could stab you anywhere."

"The girl has a point, hound." Said Brienne before taking a bite of fish.

"I don't want to hear any more about swords or how to handle them," Sansa spoke as sternly as she could, "Arya, come and _eat!" _

She could feel a sullen look from her sister, but nevertheless Arya came and sat down. They ate in silence.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

"We need to decide what we're going to do." Arya broke the quietness of the wood to Sansa. They were sat with the horses whilst Sandor and Brienne had gone off to check if it was safe near the Kingsroad. It was a conversation Sansa had been trying to avoid; she had tried to believe that if the four of them just kept getting up and riding and stopping for lunch and riding and stopping for dinner and sleeping and repeating it over that that was the way they could be. But of course they could not.

"Isn't it obvious?" She said, leaning in to look closer at her sister.

"Our family is broken," Arya's voice was small and hopeless, "There's Jon at the wall. That's it. I've always wanted to just fly north to him. He'll look after us. The wall can protect us in case the Lannisters find out we're still alive."

"You know the wall has no part in the wars of Westeros," Sansa replied sadly, "Jon wouldn't be allowed to let us stay."

"He would now," Arya objected, "Did you know he's been elected _Lord Commander _of the Night's Watch. They all have to do as he says. He can take us in and look after us!"

"No, Arya, please listen to me…" Arya had always had a mind of her own, never a thought for anyone else's opinion. But if Sansa started thinking like that again, like the Sansa of old, then she would start arguing like it, and they would probably split up the group. She didn't want to think about who would go with who.

"But who will look after us?"

"We have each other. And we've still got Winterfell." At the mention of the great fortress of the Stark family Sansa felt her shoulders square up slightly, as if they were finally ready for some heavy burden. Arya looked up at her with a curiosity at first, but then it faded.

"Winterfell was sacked by Theon Turncloak," She said miserably, "And now it's owned by Roose Bolton and his son. They actually believe the girl that married his son is _me._ They think they own Winterfell by blood, but they don't. We could never just walk through the gates and _demand it back._"

"No…" Said Sansa slowly, "But we could take it back."

"How?"

"There are still men in the north loyal to Father. Men who ride only for a Stark. If they find out the daughters of Eddard Stark are still alive they'll follow us. We need to find out exactly what the situation is amongst the Boltons."

"Theon is Ramsay's hostage. Reek, I think he's called. At an inn Sandor and I stayed in they were saying that Asha Greyjoy, Theon's sister, is going to try and go inland from the Iron Islands to save her brother."

Asha Greyjoy. The name stuck in Sansa's head. A potential ally. She had heard Father talking about the Ironborn. They had no interest in the north, only their islands and their kingsmoot and sea chair, or whatever it was. Once Asha saved her brother she would have no need for Winterfell. She would end the Boltons and just leave it, return to the Iron Islands.

The sudden loud interruption of Brienne and Sandor's voices jerked Sansa out of her thoughts.

"We'll keep to the trees for now," Sandor rasped, "Keeping the Kingsroad to our left."

"For a while we will…" Sansa replied, standing and helping her sister to her feet.

"What do you mean, my lady?" Said Brienne suspiciously.

"We've been journeying North this whole time with no inclination as to where we're actually going," Sansa's voice was full of caution, "But I want to go West towards the Iron Islands, to meet with Asha Greyjoy before she comes inland headed for Winterfell."

"What d'you want to go pissing around with a bunch of sea rats like the iron born for?" Asked Sandor.

"Because Asha Greyjoy will be making her way to Winterfell to save her brother from Ramsay Bolton," Sansa looked at him, no thoughts of awkwardness or worry or fear in her mind at all, "And I believe she could be a powerful ally if the Starks are to sit in the Great Hall of Winterfell again."

Sandor's face did not change but his mouth twitched and his eyes, which were fixed on Sansa in a stillness, slowly shifted to a look of humour mixed with pity. _Still living in a dream, _they seemed to say.

"No, little bird," His voice was a calm, hoarse rasp, "It's the wall we are headed for, as long as the horses can make the pull. Your Commander brother will look after you…"

"We are Starks of _Winterfell_," Interjected Arya, "And Winterfell is where we belong. We are going to take it back, with Asha Geryjoy's help."

"But you can't," Brienne came in now, "Winterfell is lorded over by the Boltons…"

"…who hold Greyjoy's brother captive," Sansa said, "And I know what lengths she will go to, to get him back. She is iron born. West is where I will go to meet with her and hopefully persuade her."

"And if you don't?" Sandor's question hung in the air like an arrow loosed from the bow.

"I'll come to the wall." Sansa's words were rock hard.

"You'll come to the wall _now," _Brienne's determination matched her own, "I made a promise to your lady mother that I would look after you."

"You still will," Sansa replied with a sudden surprising idea taking wing in her head. Yes, what she was thinking could work… "You will take Ayra to the wall, to see Lord Commander Snow. You and Sandor both."

She knew Sandor and Arya were giving each other a look that was plain to see they weren't happy about being stuck with each other again.

"But why just me?" Arya cut in, "What about you?"

"You shouldn't be there if things go badly with Asha Greyjoy," Sansa said protectively, "There are two Stark girls alive. We need to keep it from falling to one."

"But _you're _the one who said Jon wouldn't be able to look after us," Arya shot back.

"No, but he can find someone who will. Give you food enough and provisions to see you safely to a small town somewhere. Maybe take a ship from Eastwatch-by-the-sea."

"And who, may I ask, is going with you to the Greyjoy girl?" Brienne asked.

"No one." Sansa's voice was hard and unbending. She did not want to think about the expression on Brienne's face. Before anyone could say anything else she walked away, leading her horse by the reins downstream where he could drink, and she could gather her thoughts about what she had just announced. She could hear the commotion behind her, a mixture of three clashing voices until Sandor's rasp cut across:

"I'll deal with this."

She braced herself for an argument. If he wanted he could scoop her up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carry her to the Wall that way. She then thought of Winterfell, a ruin run by Lord Bolton and his bastard. _Let him try. _

She made her way around to the bag on the other side of her saddle. She could hear his ragged breath as he came to her. Before he spoke she moved again. He suddenly grabbed her arm with an iron grip.

"You'll come to the wall with us," He said. She yanked her arm away. "You little fool," He rasped, "Do you have any idea how fucking dangerous it would be to go alone?"

"I want to go home," Sansa replied in a shaking voice, struggling to hold back tears, "This is the only way I know how."

"Don't be so fucking stupid," Said Sandor, "You can go to your brother on the wall. He'll find you a home."

"He'll find Arya a home until it's safe for us at Winterfell. This is the only way."

"And if you come across a group of men on the road? Are you really going to believe that you're fucking bloodline will stop them raping you? They'll do it twice as fast and take you back to King's Landing if you tell them you're a Stark and they should bloody respect you. Let Winterfell go, for god's sake, girl."

"I'm getting home if I have to walk every step of the way. I'll take it back and rebuild it myself even if I'm the one who has to mix mortar and put bricks together _and I will kill you if you try and stop me!" _Sansa let go of all her courtesies in one flush and that same rush of anger made her lift her hand and try to slap him. He caught her wrist with an even harder pain than before, and she could feel her lips shaking, her tears fighting to get out, a scream trying to surface. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Brienne and Arya standing by the trees, watching the argument spill out. In front of her Sandor was wearing that look of pity on his face which also screamed at her how stupid she was being. But she didn't care. She was a wolf. She needed a home.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

She tried to pull away from Sandor, but he held onto her wrist fast, her skin twisting painfully as she tried to wrench herself free. The tears were coming. She was striking his huge chest with her free hand clenched in a fist. She was as helpless as her sister had been when he had snatched her, but in her own mind Sansa was a fighting direwolf, with all the beauty of Lady and the fury of Nymeria. _He will not stop me. I won't let him. _

She felt a hot tear slide down her cheek but her anger was quenched by Sandor's too strong hands now clutching her arms, stopping any physical fight she might want to make. She gave a small choking sob of frustration and buried her head helplessly in the horse's side. The animal gave a careless toss of the head.

She couldn't believe what she had just allowed Brienne and her sister to witness.

"I'll take you west."

The words were unexpected in her ear. She looked up, and Sandor Clegane with his hands still on her arms was speaking in a low rasp to her. She looked over to Brienne, who was craning her neck, never coming closer but trying to hear.

_If I accept him, I won't be able to repay him. But they will take me to the wall otherwise. _

She nodded.

"Take the wolf girl to the wall, Tarth," Sandor said to Brienne, "I'll take the little bird to this Greyjoy bitch on the Iron Islands."

"_I _will take Lady Sansa," Brienne replied instantly. Trust Brienne to object.

"You need to take Arya to the Wall," Sansa said, wiping her face as Sandor released her, "Please."

"It is my duty to protect you and shield your back, my lady," the Maid of Tarth continued to press, "I swore a vow to your mother."

"I swore a vow to protect Joffrey Baratheon and shield his back," Sandor cut in, "Here I am. Honour and all." The sarcasm did not go unnoticed.

"Your honour is worth nothing, deserting hound." Brienne retorted.

"Brienne, please listen to me," Sansa pleaded, "I understand your wanting to keep your honour. My Mother would have been proud to have a Knight of your calibre serving her," She heard a snort from Sandor behind her but she carried on anyway, "I just hope I've been as great a lady to you the way my Mother was. Please, help me the way you wanted to help her. You found me, just as you swore you would. You served Catelyn Stark. Please do her daughters the same justice. Protect one and help the other."

When she had finished speaking, Sansa realised she had taken hold of one of Brienne's hands. She had hands as big as Sandor's, probably as just as rough and cut under her heavy leather gloves. Looking up into the big woman's face, Sansa saw her stunning blue eyes were staring sadly at her.

"You bear so much resemblance to your mother, Lady Stark," Brienne spoke slowly in a mournful voice, "Very well." She took a step back to face Sansa and Arya equally. "I am yours, daughters of House Stark. I shall shield your backs and give my life for yours if it should come to that. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

"You will always have a place in our home and at our table," Sansa replied with every dignity she had seen her father speak similar words, "And we shall never ask anything of you that would bring you dishonour." She then waited, and Arya finished,

"We swear it by the old gods and the new."

There was silence for a few minutes. Sandor stood unsure of whether to speak first or let the women begin. Brienne stared at the ground, her eyes closed. Arya looked up expectantly at Sansa, who had no idea of what to do next. _The stories all speak of Knights swearing vows but never who said what after. _

"You should go now, then," Brienne suddenly spoke up, turning to walk away to her horse, "You'll need as much time as possible to reach Greyjoy before she comes to you."

Sansa looked after her almost helplessly, when she felt an urgent hand on her shoulder from Sandor, silently telling her to get on her horse. _But I never meant for it to happen this quick, _the child in her insisted, _but if not now, when? _

"Arya," She went to her sister, as Brienne came back straight to Sandor, warning him what would happen if Sansa came back injured or not at all.

"I've got it, bitch of Tarth," He retorted bluntly, going off to get his own horse.

"Nevertheless," Brienne's voice became slightly louder, "If you don't take care of her, if I find her hurt, you will hang. By the Gods I swear it."

"I'll miss you too. Piss off now with that wolf bitch. I'll be fucking glad to finally see the back of her. Don't be surprised if you wake up to find her about to smash your skull in."

Sansa ignored the jibes between them. _Something I won't miss, _she thought, before taking Arya a few paces away.

"I don't like this plan," Arya said uncertainly.

"It's this or nothing," Sansa replied, "Be good to Brienne. She really is a good woman, and mother trusted her. She's kept me alive."

"I like her." Arya looked over to Brienne. Sansa knew she was pleased about finally parting with the Hound, and Brienne was obviously fond of the girl. "I'm going to miss you." Arya sniffed before throwing her arms around her sister. The Stark daughters embraced whilst the leaves were gently nudged from their branches and the two on the horses waited.

"We've found each other once. It will happen again," Sansa said in her sister's ear.

"Did he really save you from being raped?" She heard Arya whisper back.

"Yes. I'm sorry I lied to Father about Nymeria." The confession came out of her quickly, as if she didn't tell Arya it would be her last chance. She wanted to ask everything and tell her sister everything, in what precious small time they had before House Stark was scattered again.

"I'm sorry they killed Lady. We had to drive Nymeria off with rocks. It was all the hound's fault."

"Did you really try to smash his head in with a skull?"

"Yes."

"Arya…" Sansa wanted to say something wise like Mother that showed her advanced years over Arya, but found she couldn't. No matter how passionately she spoke, or how she tried to come up new plans and ideas, the two of them were still just girls. But the daughters of wolves. "Stay…you. Please don't change."

Arya smiled, and the two made their way over to their horses.

"Goodbye, Brienne of Tarth. I pray the Gods hold you in good stead." Sansa spoke to Brienne with every respect she had ever been taught.

"Farewell, my lady," Brienne replied, and Sansa wondered if she had said the same thing to her mother, "May the Gods protect you from any…" She cast an eye at Sandor, "_Danger _you may encounter."

"Thank you." Sansa's voice was beginning to tremble. She grabbed Arya for one last hug. If she didn't go now, she would tell Sandor to give it up and just head for the wall with Brienne and Arya. That small part of her wanted to remain with her sister, desperately. _This road will be long. But the paths always are, like in the songs. My sister will be waiting for me at the end of this one. And so will Winterfell. _

The girls mounted their horses.

With a deep breath, a trembling lip, and strength she did not feel, Sansa Stark put her heels to her horse and turned from Arya Stark and Brienne, maid of Tarth. With Sandor Clegane beside her, it was west she went to conquer the North, her Mother's forbearance and red hair upon her, and blood of her Father and the First men inside her, a mighty people who would not know defeat even when it rode behind them, biting at their heels.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

So Sansa went West, and Sandor went with her. She was silent for an entire day, staring mutely into the mane of her horse, letting the animal follow Stranger, Sandor's enormous black horse. He made no attempt to make conversation, only offering her a walnut when he split one open for himself. She shook her head in silence.

"You wanted to go west," He snapped as he pulled to a halt to make a camp for them, "Now you're going West you're in a bigger buggeirng sulk than your bloody sister was."

"I just didn't expect I'd have to leave her so quickly after having found her again," The sound of her own voice surprised Sansa after having stayed silent for a whole day.

"Well you haven't got to worry about her; that bitch of Tarth has got more precious honour in her thumb than your bloody sister has in her whole scrawny body. She'd have to kill her just to get away."

"I just miss her, _that's all." _

"You can still turn around and go after them to the wall."

"I'm going west."

"Have it your way, little bird."

She hadn't heard him call her _little bird _for a few days. It was only now Sansa noticed how she had missed it. She thought of how glad she had been to see him again. _He must know I will never be able to pay him for his services,_ she thought as she lay down to sleep that evening, staring up at the sky, _he must have offered to take me out of kindness. Perhaps he is more of a knight than I originally thought. _That made her want to laugh. _If that's what I really think then I really am just a stupid talking little bird. _

What had lead Sandor to offer his companionship she couldn't put her finger on._ He probably just got fed up of Arya… _

She had decided, by the time they were riding the next morning, that she would make an effort to be a lady and be extremely courteous to him, and speak as if he were a friend, the way she had with Brienne. After all, he was going out of his way to accompany her and undoubtedly protect her.

Just as it began to rain they came upon an inn with smoke rising from its rickety chimney, and she asked him if they might stop as politely as possible.

"Only for a short time. An hour, at the most. Just so I might warm my clothes and get some fresh food."

He agreed without any objection. Obviously he wanted to rest and eat as well.

"I'll get us a room for the night and food. Some hot water for a bath as well. Keep your hood up. Don't show your eyes. I'm your husband, and I'll do the talking."

She glanced up at him in worry at the thought of posing as his wife, but quickly pushed the thought aside. _It is for my protection._ _I owe him this much, at least. _

They gave their horses to a stable boy and made their way inside, to see the room filled with burley, drinking men. Sansa stopped in her tracks. The look some of them wore in her eyes reminded of her of the men who had taken hold of her and tried to pull her from her horse the day the mob attacked in King's Landing. She slid her arm through Sandor's without a second thought. He looked down at her.

"If I'm your wife…" She whispered. He said nothing. They made their way across the room.

The closer they came to another man the tighter Sansa's clutch on Sandor's arm became. She didn't let go of him even when he banged his fist on the bar countertop, demanding a drink and something hot to eat. She leaned her head, thankful her face was shielded by her hood, into his arm.

"Y'after a room for the night?" The owner grunted, placing a tankard of beer in front of Sandor and a glass of wine in front of Sansa. She reached out and gingerly took a sip whilst Clegane made the necessary arrangements. Turning her head, she saw nearly all the eyes in the room were on her. Those of the men were, anyway. Sandor must have felt her tension as he suddenly took her by the hand and pulled her away, past the tables of gaping men and up the stairs.

"What if they recognised me?" She whispered nervously as they approached the door to their room.

"That wasn't recognition, little bird, that was jealously."

"Why would they be jealous of _me?"_

"Not of you, of me."

As he ushered her into the room with only _one bed,_ she noticed in horror, she could have sworn there was a smile on his face.

"A woman from downstairs will be up with some water for a bath for you," He told her gruffly, once they had set their things down, "I'm off downstairs for a drink. Don't open the door to anyone except her or me."

And with a shut of the door, he was gone. Within a few minutes a burly but female voice came from the corridor, belonging to a woman with the largest hips and biggest breasts Sansa had ever seen, carrying a pitcher of hot water for her bath. When she was alone again, Sansa carefully lifted her dress over her head and stepped out of her small clothes. Stepping lightly into the tub, the hot water seemed to seep inside every part of herself, bringing a warmth so welcoming she couldn't help but let out a small sigh with a smile. Cupping the water in her hands she brought it up to her face and leaned back with her eyes shut. She thought of Sandor downstairs, how glad she had been to see him again. And, somehow, how _right _it felt to be alone on the road with him. She could remember the night in King's Landing she had been making her way back to her chambers, when he had emerged from around the corner, and was blocking her way. How close he had leaned in to her, the way he had inhaled as he took all of her in, and, most importantly, how her heart had pounded…

A sudden sharp knock at the door and the sound of the latch trying to turn made her jump, scattering small beads of water onto the floor. She climbed out of the tub and, finding her gown, pulled it on as quickly as possible, fumbling awkwardly with the sash and hurrying to the door.

"Who is it?" She called hoarsely, trying not to sound afraid.

"Me."

As she looked down to the latch, she suddenly realised that her gown was only half laced correctly. One breast was nearly bare. With a tiny gasp of panic she adjusted it and then unlocked the door to find Sandor standing there with a bitter look on his face.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"Bloody cow's piss of wine they've got here." He replied, walking brusquely past her and taking off his cloak and sword. Still in a fluster about her gown, she folded her arms to cover herself and went over to the other side of the room. All she could do was stand by the bedside, embarrassedly staring at the small space they had to share. When she saw him swing his feet up onto the mattress and lie down, she couldn't help but take one step back. He looked up at her with a mixture of annoyance and disappointment.

"You'd better get used to this," He said, "This is how people travel on the road when they don't want to be recognised."

She swallowed. _He's right,_ she thought. _If I'm a wolf, a true wolf, I shouldn't be afraid. _Into her head came the sudden image of Margery Tyrell, and how effortlessly she had faced the path of the marriage bed with Joffrey. _Margery wouldn't be afraid. She is a queen. I am a wolf. _

Pulling the sheet aside, she climbed into the bed beside Sandor.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

She saw the blood spurt from the delicate ivory throat of her mother, the choking, scraping sound of Lady Stark's last breath. There was Robb beside her, all those arrows sticking out of his body like branches on a tree, the blood pouring down his body and dripping to the floor like grotesque leaves. Next came her father, lying headless on the steps of that place which had once been a place of beauty, his hands frighteningly still by his side, his head being held aloft by Ser Ilyn. And the sword was being raised, coming for her next.

"Bring me her head," Joffrey said, "But keep it pretty. I like her pretty."

Before she could scream for help, a pair of strong hands were on her arms, a large figure above her, shaking her, telling her, commanding her, forcing her to wake up. But if she woke up Joffrey would be there to hurt her, to have her beaten bloody and then to drag her helpless and begging for mercy to those steps. Suddenly arms were around her and someone was pulling her into a hard embrace, keeping her locked against them. _I'm safe, _she tried to tell herself. She could feel her hands trembling. Whoever was holding her could feel it as well, for those large coarse hands suddenly held hers with tenderness, a kindness that she had thought no longer existed in the world. She looked up, and it was Sandor holding her. It was Sandor protecting her.

"Hush now, little bird," He whispered gently, "Enough. You're alright now. Just a bad dream, as all."

Yes, she was alright. Just a bad dream. It was dark but warm and she was not alone. She had Sandor, watching over her as he had in King's Landing, with his cloak over her, protecting her honour when they stripped her. It was enough. He had told Joffrey _enough _when they were hitting her. Now she could never be harmed again, it seemed. Gazing down at his arms she could see the muscle in them, their raw strength intensified by all the scars from battle. Surely nothing bad could happen to her were she to stay in these arms like this. It was now she realised he was bare chested. Without realising what was happening she found her lips searching for his. When she found them she kissed him softly at first, softer than the dull glow of the dying candle, but when she felt him pulling her closer she grabbed his head with her hands and her mouth opened for his tongue. His hands were running down the curve of her back and she pushed herself up against him, as if she wanted to disappear inside of him. Suddenly she felt a surge from him and she was on her back, him on top of her, a large dark shape with a burned face. _This one who has protected me. The hound. But he is no dog, he is a man. _

She had never known anything like this. It felt as if beyond Sandor, the room and the rest of the world was a gaping, vast, unknown, eternally dark. But he was here, he was the guardian bringing her back to reality with his rasping and his brutal honesty. They remained like that for some time, moving as one with their bodies and lips as the candle on the bedside table flickered and eventually burned out as their lips parted and sleep fell upon her. As they lay back against the pillows she nestled her head into the crook of Sandor's chest and her eyes slid shut. She had no bad dreams. The tight security of his arm around her told her she never would again.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

When Sansa awoke, he was no longer in the bed. She sat up with an almost crushing disappointment only to find him standing at the foot of it, putting on his sword belt.

"Thought you would want to sleep a little longer," His voice was a low rasp as it had always been, and yet it was different. He left her to bring up breakfast while she dressed, bringing the fabric up her back and around her shoulders. She did this slowly, all the while clinging to the caress of his hands last night, at the same time going crimson with the memory. _Surely I cannot call myself a lady now…_ a part of her whined. The child inside. _Shut up. Last night was mine. Married or not, it belongs to me. No one can take it from me. I'll go to my grave with the feel of it still. _

When Sandor returned and they left to begin another day of relentless riding, Sansa felt her confidence disappear. He had not said a word to her about last night or anything else, his eyes constantly fixed on the road. He did not even turn his head her way. She found herself hurt incredibly deep, and glared at him whenever she saw fit. When she didn't, she was wrestling with her conscience, scolding herself for letting this push Winterfell to the back of her mind. What was she doing worrying like an air-headed maiden in a song about what a man thought of her when her very home was hanging by a thread? She not only felt angry with herself but also with Sandor. Yes, she had sought out his lips in the dark but he had not resisted. Suddenly a small surge of excitement came upon her. _Has he wanted to kiss me again all this time?_

"I said _stay behind me." _She heard his warning rasp, barely above a whisper as she came to her senses, and saw a group of ten men, each one more filthy than the last, stood before them, blocking their path. Some of them wore armour, most wore swords, all stared hungrily at her. She felt her throat seize up in fear. Then she remembered Sandor's words. She had to pull her horse back behind Stranger.

"No good doin' that," One spoke as she began to pull on her reigns. His voice was gnarled and his bald head caked in dirt.

"Leave her be," Sandor snarled, "Let us pass."

"What does a man with half a face and a precious little lady want so far out here?" The speaker persisted.

"It is none of your concern," Sansa was amazed and frightened to hear her own voice rise up. "My companion was named the hound by his previous employers. Unless you want to find out the reason why I suggest you let us pass in peace."

She felt Sandor's look of anger flash towards her. _What is wrong with threatening them? _She thought, annoyed. _He would kill them, anyway. _

"Hold on…" Another was speaking, "That's King Joffrey's dog. The Hound. That's Sandor Clegane."

Sansa nearly felt her stomach tear in two. _So unbelievably stupid. He'll never forgive me for this. He'll never want to kiss me again after this… concentrate! _

"Let us pass and I'll forget you said that." Sandor's voice was raw and hard.

"And who's this?" A third voice came into the fray, directed at her. She saw Sandor draw his sword. Then the flash of the enemy steel. Stranger charged with his teeth bared, a truly ferocious beast. They all leapt aside but came back at Sandor and eight of them went to drag him from the horse. The other two came for her. All Sansa could see suddenly was the blaring sun in her eyes and the walls of the Red Keep in the distance and with a scream saw the mob around her, only this time they had a hold on her that couldn't be broken. The one who had come back for her would think her too stupid to be worth helping. _No. He is trying to get to me. I have to help him. _

Kicking her heels in her horse's sides she tried to dash away from the two who were coming for her. But a grappling nasty arm was around her waist before she could reach Sandor. A hard blow came at the back of her head and pain exploded. She saw red. Next thing she knew she was lying on the cold ground, and a shadow was standing over her. A voice came to her and told her how pretty she was. Then another warning that Greyjoy would have his head on a spit if he raped her. She tried to shout. One for hearing the name. _I'm looking for Asha Greyjoy! I must speak with her! _Another for mercy. _I beg you, leave me be. Don't soil me! _A final for the one she knew could save her. _If you ever want to kiss me again, save me. Please._ She heard that roar, sharper than Valryian steel, calling her _little bird. _

And then darkness.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

_Gentle mother, font of mercy…_

"She was spraying some shit about Asha Greyjoy when we took them."

"Little bird…"

_Save our sons from war we pray…_

She tried to move her head, but a sudden jolt of pain made her lie back down.

_Gentle mother, font of mercy…_

"Look at me. Can you look at me?"

If she really tried, Sansa could see. Her eyes were too exhausted to open, but she could hear. The voice speaking to her was not next to her, but it was near. And thank the seven, it was a rasp. So they were not dead, she prayed.

"Sandor…" She found she could speak. She heard an audible sigh of relief.

"Thank fuck for that." It was definitely him. Sansa could now see colour. And she could lift her head. Lying on her side, she sought out Sandor and saw him sitting against a pole. He was bound to it, no chance of movement.

"What happened?" She asked.

"You bloody well gave us away, that's fucking what." He snarled back. She wanted to tell him to shut up, that it was not all her fault, and that they would have been taken anyway, but then she remembered that she had heard the name Asha Greyjoy. Being taken could not be such a bad thing. In a way it was meant to happen.

"And your sister and the bitch of Tarth are here, by the way." She gave Sandor a look of confusion.

"They went North," She stammered. How could they be here? Brienne would never let anything like this happen to Arya. _You thought Sandor would never let anything like this happen to you…_

"They were caught like us. The little bitch probably gave them away as well."

"I didn't mean to tell them who you were!" Sansa said, her lips trembling. She wanted to just drop her head into the dirt and cry. Arya wasn't safe, she wasn't at the wall with Jon, she was here surrounded by filthy outlaws who would murder her and then come for herself and Sandor, the man she had kissed with a passion she didn't know she had now hated her. And it was all her own fault.

"I'm sorry." She muttered, feeling the tears swelling up in her eyes. She lowered her head. If she had to cry, it would not be where he could see. She had already given too much of herself to him. Stealing a glance, she saw pity in him.

"No, little bird, I am sorry," He spoke surprisingly slowly, his rasp toneless, "I am sorry I couldn't reach you. Seven hells knows I tried. But they played a new trick on this old dog." He laughed hoarsely and bitterly. She looked up at him.

"You've come between disaster and I many times, sir," She told him, "You have saved me in more ways than you know."

At that, the laugh stopped. His eyes were on her again, the same eyes that had looked upon her when he woke her from her nightmares.

"Then I'll get you out of this." His words were not desperate for approval, nor were they a sacred vow. It was a fact, pure and simple: he would get her out. She would walk away, and she would walk away alive because of him. Without another word Sansa knew he would now protect her more fiercely than he had ever protected Joffrey, and he would savage anyone who touched her without her permission.

Before any other words could be spoken, a man suddenly stood over her and was kneeling down to take hold of her.

"Touch her and I'll strangle you with your own guts," Sandor warned.

"Not trussed up like a turkey, you won't," The person replied. Sansa could see it was the first of the men who had spoken on the road. He hauled her to her feet, and two men hoisted Sandor to his. She remembered why they were here. Sansa gave Sandor a look asking him not to struggle.

"You mentioned Asha Greyjoy?" She asked the bald man.

"So what?" He spat.

"I wish to speak with her at once," She replied.

"D'ya jear that?" He turned to the men holding Sandor, "The little lady wishes to speak with Asha Greyjoy, _at once!" _His laugh was gnarly and his grip on her arm was tight as he pulled her along, with Sandor struggling as he was dragged behind them.

"Where are you taking us?" Sansa asked, trying to make her voice sound anything unlike the fear in her stomach. Her escort made no reply but gave her a smile with grey teeth.

"Bring the little one and the huge whore with them!" He called over to someone. Sansa immediately was aware that he meant Arya and Brienne. She could see them now, Arya was not bound like Brienne but was being dragged all the same. Somehow Sansa guessed they had a harder time holding Arya than Brienne.

"My lady," Brienne called to her when they were pushed into Sansa and Sandor, "Are you hurt?"

"No," Sansa replied, and threw her arms around Arya. _Thank the gods she's not hurt. _The sisters were yanked apart and now two men were holding Sansa.

"You promised to take care of her," Brienne said venomously to Sandor.

"Don't give yourself fucking airs," He replied as they were both yanked to a walking pace behind the girls, "You haven't done any fucking better, bitch of Tarth."

_One thing I haven't missed, _thought Sansa.

"Where are we?" Arya asked, glaring up at the men as if she could scratch their eyes out.

Sansa looked around frantically, trying to make out the truth. They were still in woodland of sorts, with tents and fires up everywhere. Men were running around everywhere, drinking, some singing, some eating, many laughing. Most with their eyes on her.

_Don't be afraid. A wolf doesn't need courage to chase off rats. _

When the four were brought before a gathering of men seated around the biggest fire of all, the bald man left Sansa and said something to one of his men she couldn't hear. Once it was said, however, the man immediately went off running.

"What are you doing so far north hound, and what do you want with Asha Greyjoy?" The bald head looked from Sandor to Sansa. She gulped.

"Looking for vermin to kill," Sandor replied. Brienne, who was still being held by three men, gave him a cold look. He gave one back.

Sansa was trying to think of something to say when her eyes suddenly caught a flash of grey on one of the flags hanging above a tent. A direwolf. All she had to do was glimpse in another direction and there was another. Then, yes, next to the Kraken of House Greyjoy there was another. And another. There were men here still fighting for House Stark.

"You'll be interested to hear what I have got to say to Asha Greyjoy when you find out it concerns the direwolf that flies above you." She spoke slowly, determined.

"And why would we be interested in anything from you except what's between your legs?" The man grunted.

Sansa could feel the anger of both Sandor and Brienne behind her but she said nothing. Instead she snatched her arms free of the grip of her captors, and before they could get her again drew her hood back from her face and spoke as her auburn hair tumbled about her.

"Because I am Sansa, of House Stark, daughter to Eddard, Lady of the North and Heir to Winterfell," With her last words the eyes of every man were fixed on her even more than before, as they realised they were looking at the most eligible maiden in Westeros. At first her words sounded like the desperate pleas of the child she had been in King's Landing, as she had begged Joffrey to stop when he demanded her Father's head, and when he had had her beaten before the court. But when _Eddard _and _Winterfell _passed her lips she felt the strength of the Wolf inside her, the walls of the Stark home enclosed around her, protecting her, and the warmth of her sister beside her.

"I see Direwolves here, fighting with the Kraken of house Greyjoy as allies," She went on, as her voice gathered power and eventually commanded the clearing full of men,

"If any of you ever loved my father, ride with me," Sansa couldn't believe how bold her voice was, "The Stark line is not gone. My brother Jon is Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and you named my brother Robb the King in the North before his death. And I have my sister. I am asking those of you still loyal to House Stark, and those who have made us your friends. Let me speak with Lady Greyjoy and offer my comradeship in return for hers. If you would see the direwolf of my house above the walls of Winterfell again, stand with me, the daughter of Eddard Stark. Help me retake the stronghold of the North."

With the final words of Sansa Stark a sudden rupture went up from the mass of greasy heads she saw before her, and as she turned to look at Arya, she saw a look of amazed astonishment from her younger sister. She didn't turn to look at either Sandor or Brienne. A voice suddenly broke through the cheers, sceptical and stern,

"With due respect to you and yours, m'lady," This fellow with the bald head was going to be harder to persuade, she could see, but somehow it didn't bother her. She was not a coward, or a frightened child anymore. She was a wolf, she had found her pack again and made it stronger. Like any respectful lady would she heard him out, "what is there to retake? The Boltons have your old home, and once the Greyjoys are done with it they'll leave it as it is now: a ruin, sacked and smokin'."

"Ruins can be rebuilt," She replied instantly, "Harrenhal still stands after the Targaryen dragonfire, and look at King's Landing after the sacking of Robert Baratheon. Winterfell can grow from what it has become with these invaders."

Upon these words a new man made his way around the fire to her. As he drew closer, Sansa felt a spring of recognition. Arya confirmed it as she suddenly exclaimed,

"I know you!"

A weary smile spread across the aged face, blackened with the soot spent eternally by a blacksmith's hearth as he spoke,

"I am glad to hear it, Arya, daughter of Eddard. And you, Sansa," His squinting eyes turned to her, "You have the authority and forbearance of your lady mother. I am ashamed I did not recognise you or your sister sooner. I am Mikken…"

"You forged Needle for me," Arya said instantly.

"Yes, and proud that you remember, young warrior," Mikken said fondly. Yes, Sansa remembered now. From the forges of Winterfell came men like Mikken, who with every blow of his welding hammer armed her father in battle and gave him his protection, a shield engraved with the direwolf that was a part of her, of Arya, of every Stark that ever sat in the chair of Winterfell. And here he was, his loyalty unbreakable. Sansa blinked back a tear. It would do no good to cry. "If it would please you, my ladies," Mikken was saying, as he got down on one knee, "I would be honoured to protect the daughters of Eddard Stark. Allow me to propose myself as your shield."

"I have a shield, as does my sister," Sansa replied, a genuine feeling of regret, "Sandor Clegane and Brienne of Tarth have done more for us than I can say, however we will welcome your comradeship and trust."

"As you wish, lady Sansa." Mikken moved back, and several other men came forward to swear their fealty to the wolves. Before long the entire camp was on its feet, chanting _Eddard _and _lady of the north _and _glory to Winterfell._

Arya had been released and upon Sansa's request Sandor and Brienne had been released from their bonds. Immediately they both came to the girl's sides, and their swords were returned to them.

"That was quite a speech," Sansa heard a hard, female voice say. Turning, she found the one she had been searching for.

Asha Greyjoy was stood before Sansa Stark, the Kraken before the Wolf, and a woman of good build, short brown hair and narrowed, suspicious eyes. "I'm almost tempted to fly the Direwolf of House Stark above my own banners."


	11. Chapter 10

**It's been a bit of a lapse between chapters as I've been weighed down with A Levels and such, but I hope this was worth a short wait. I love reading the reviews as everyone has been so considerate and wonderful about my little story, do keep them coming, my lovelies! Hopefully the plot and writing hasn't or won't become stale… :) ****  
**

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Chapter 10:

When Sansa met Brienne she remembered thinking that she would never meet another woman like her in all her life. As the Kraken's daughter stood in front of her now she wasn't so sure. Asha Greyjoy was the promise of something; behind her weary but determined eyes there stood a warning that she was as good as any man, heightened with the iron-born blood and knowledge that came from leading 30 ships to victory at Deepwood Motte.

It was a mile or so south of Deepwood Motte that they were now, stood in Greyjoy's tent, with Sansa and Arya on one side as Sandor and Brienne stood faithfully beside them, and Asha on the other with several of her men. A map of the North was laid out, the Wolfswood between Deepwood Motte and home.

"You wish to come to Winterfell with me, then," Greyjoy was saying, "I give you your home back. What can I expect in return?"

"All you want is Theon," Sansa ventured cautiously, "Once you've saved your brother and destroyed the Boltons you'll have no use for Winterfell."

"I need to find him before I have Winterfell," Asha replied with a coy smile, "My power lies in my ships, remember. And I'm going further and further inland. The sea is my strength."

"Winterfell is ours," Arya said. The men stood by Asha Greyjoy were no doubt used to women taking control but no one had ventured on an 11 year old girl being a part of the battle plans. "You get us there, we'll tell you how to take it. How to get in without completely destroying it. How to find your brother without getting caught."

"And when this is done," Sansa finished, "You'll have all the men and everything you need to get back to the Iron Islands safely, and an alliance with Winterfell."

"Stronghold of the North…" Asha mused, her finger trailing across the ink trees to the word Winterfell, "You want to go home. So do I, but not without my brother. You tell me the best points around the castle, then with a band of my men you go in and find Theon."

"They are not to be a part of the fighting." Sandor Clegane's voice cut across the table with fierceness.

"The Starks won't be," Greyjoy told him, "Sansa and Arya know Winterfell the way a direwolf knows the Wolfswood. They take a band of men into the fort in silence and absolute secrecy…"

"Us, and us alone," Brienne suddenly said, "Too many would be too difficult."

Sansa would have felt safer with a few more guards with them, but was thwarted when Brienne continued, "I would feel better knowing Lady Catelyn's daughters were outside hidden in the woods as we went in and returned as quickly as possible."

"I'll not leave her alone here," Sandor leaned in to say to Brienne in a low rasp, but Sansa heard it.

"The four of you will go, return my brother to me, and then I will march on Winterfell and drive out the Boltons for you," Greyjoy announced, "But that is it. Once Theon is safe with me I ride for the Iron Islands. Any men who choose to follow you do so of their own choice. The Starks made Winterfell, they can rebuild it."

"They will." Arya replied, her voice hard.

"It is agreed then," Sansa said, and walked around the table to offer her hand to Asha Greyjoy. Sansa could feel her own nerves give her away as the two women shook hands but Greyjoy's shake was firm and strong. She knew the danger that was coming but she told herself not to be afraid. The danger was the risk, and Winterfell was worth the risk. And she had Sandor. Arya had Brienne. None of them would go down without a fight. And Sansa would fight for any of them.

* * *

Sansa was walking along a stream in the Wolfswood with Sandor beside her when Arya suddenly appeared in front of them, dangling from a tree.

"Will you watch what you're fucking doing?" Sandor snarled at her.

"No." She said simply, and vanished up amongst the branches once more. As Sansa looked up after her she suddenly realised she had always known someone like Asha Greyjoy. _Brienne must be back at the camp_, she thought. Arya would have had to ask her to let her be alone- Brienne would not have left her otherwise. Nevertheless Sansa couldn't help but wish Arya was not above them, able to hear anything she might want to say. _But if I don't do this now, when will I? _

"It was so noble of you to offer to protect me," She ventured slowly, already knowing how she wanted this conversation to end.

"You called me awful once, don't go changing your tune just because I offered to keep you safe." There was no emotion in his voice. _Not like this. Why does he make everything he does sound so…worthless when it means everything?_

"Why are you being so cold towards me?" Sansa asked him, her voice taking on the tone of the stubborn child for the first time in a long while.

"Little bird, this is how a dog is to its master."

"You are no dog, I am not little, and this is not how it should be between…us." _That could not have gone any worse. Here I am making an alliance with one of the most powerful women in the North and I can't even talk to the man I call my shield. _

They had come to a halt more awkward than any in the past. Sandor had turned away from her, his gaze fixed downward on the stream and his eyes hidden underneath the burns and a few limp strands of his hair.

"Perhaps I was wrong to accept you as my protector." She said coldly, as loudly as she dared. With that she turned on her heel. The sudden steel clutch of his hand on her arm made her gasp as he yanked her around to face him, his eyes full of that harsh emotion they had the night of the Blackwater.

"I _am_ cold, girl," He hissed into her face, "I am a cold and fucking bitter dog who has had enough of fire, enough to just wander into the snow and fucking die. Then I took your bloody sister and realised she was a way to you. Then I woke you up from your nightmare and _you _started what happened in that inn, and I knew it was just like in a fucking song. One of those songs they taught you to sing, one of those songs… I forced from you."

Sansa could only look at him, astounded.

"You…" She tried to speak, but no words formed. Sandor grabbed her other arm and marched her backwards until she was against the trunk of a tree, with his arms encircling her against the bark. And her heart began to hammer inside of her.

"I thought I could leave you for your own good when you reached the wall," He was now saying, his rasping low and urgent, that seemed to hide another kind of yearning, "Just turn my back and get away from you, but then you wanted to come West for that Greyjoy bitch who wants to throw you right into the thick of the fucking danger. And when I heard you crying in your sleep in that buggering bed and brought you into my arms…" Sansa could hear a quiet breathing in his throat as he took a deep breath, "I just wanted to keep you there and stay like that. I could have died like that, little bird. I believed I could watch you from afar, just like one of your buggering knights who loves a fair maiden that can't be his, but I fucking can't. Even when you were stood in front of that fire talking to all those men about retaking Winterfell all I could do was stare at your back and remember my hands on it and how buggering soft you were. If I go to the seven hells when I die I'll laugh in their fucking faces because I died happy, I died protecting you, doing anything for you. I'm yours, little bird. And you're mine."

Again, Sansa could not speak. _I had no idea… anything, say anything! _

"You're mine…" She repeated softly. He would have died protecting her. Thinking on it now, with her lips inches from his, she realised it had always been that way. Joffrey could have had him executed when he told the Kingsguard to stop hitting her. The mob could have torn him to pieces. _No. He wouldn't have let them, because he was protecting me. _She liked the idea of being his, though she couldn't say why. She had never belonged to Joffrey, thank the seven, and she had never belonged to Petyr Baelish, despite posing as his daughter. But having a man who would die for her and had already come close, yes, that was who she wanted by her side when she fought for her home.

Sansa could feel her chin lifting, and once again she found herself wanting to kiss him. Looking into his softening eyes she knew it was going to come. But before it could, a gentle _thump _hidden behind Sandor suddenly alerted the two of them. Sansa looked behind him to see Arya standing a few feet away, with leaves in her hair and anger in her eyes. _Traitor, _her expression screamed silently yet Sansa could hear it as if Nymeria were stood beside her mistress howling at the sky with all her might.

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**I'll let you all in on a little secret: for one wild moment as I was writing the last few lines, I really wanted to do a proper twist George RR Martin style and have Arya stab Sandor from behind before he and Sansa could kiss, and then have her walking off muttering the names from her prayer to herself as Sandor dies in Sansa's arms and have the whole thing end there. But then I laughed hysterically to myself and rewrote it. Enjoy! x **


	12. Chapter 11

Thank you for reviews again, my darlings! I have tried to stay as faithful as I can to Arya's character here in particular, I hope you all like it! My thanks especially to cannoncrossedlovers for reminding me about Arya's struggle with her conscience in ASOS, I would have probably left a lot of it out otherwise! :) In a way I suppose Arya's reaction stems from the fact that she has had so many people leave her and is now afraid that Sansa will do the same... what do you guys think? :) x

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Chapter 11:

Arya's lip was trembling. She turned and walked away, her hands bunched into fists. _I should have smashed his head in when I had the chance. _She could hear Sansa calling her name and heavy footsteps approaching her, but she broke into a run. When she felt Sandor's iron grasp on her arm she whirled around, swift as a deer.

_He won't take me this time. _As she turned she yanked Needle from her waist and slashed it across, feeling the tip pierce his armour, and then his skin. When she drew Needle back, there was blood on it. Without looking at either of them, ignoring Sandor's swearing and Sansa's cry, she ran again. This time they would not catch her. Darting in and out of the trees, Arya could feel her step becoming lighter and lighter, as if she could take to the air. _If I could fly I'd go to Jon on the wall. He wouldn't betray me for someone who killed my friend. _

She didn't make for the camp like she'd promised Brienne. If she wanted to protect Arya so much she could come and look for her while Sansa and the Hound carried on with their little…

Arya looked briefly at the blood on her sword before running her finger up it slowly, and wiping it on the nearest tree as if it were a stain. She ran some more. There was still faint shouting. Uncaring, she quickened her pace until she was running past trees that were no longer familiar. _Who cares? Sansa doesn't care about me even though she's told me she's sorry. She just likes the Hound. I thought she was too much of a lady to like someone like him. Or has she forgotten we're meant to be going home? _

In a fit of rage, Arya attacked a random trunk as if her life depended upon it. She smashed it with Needle's edge with everything she had. She could see Syrio's face when the Kingsguard had attacked him in King's Landing. She could see Sandor's face as he lay on the floor of the cave belonging to the Brotherhood. She could see Sansa's face as she realised they had been spotted.

"Traitor," She whispered. She drove Needle's point into the trunk, which now looked like a tower of sliced fruit. "Ser Meryn, Ser Ilyn, Queen Cersei..."

In her mind's eye she could see his burned face and how Sansa would rather see that than the face of her sister. _The Hound. The Hound. The Hound. _

A small part of her that had left his name out of her prayer suddenly awoke then, trying to reason with her.

_He did protect you at the Twins. _

_Yes, but he killed Mycah…_

_You only knew Mycah briefly. _

_Yes, but I knew he was also innocent. It was my fault. _

_Sansa told you he once saved her, just like he has saved you._

_Yes but he KILLED Mycah! He has no right to be so close to Sansa!_

_If she wants him to be, he is her shield. _

_He was Joffrey's shield. Look how that turned out._

* * *

"I should have followed my instinct and insisted on accompanying Lady Arya," Brienne said to no one in particular. It sounded more like a scolding for herself.

"If that little bitch is a lady then I'm Queen regent." Sandor growled whilst Sansa attended the cut on his arm. He had claimed it gave him no pain, but it had turned out to be much deeper than it looked- and worryingly, it wouldn't stop bleeding. She had to swab it several times before she could wrap it, all the while giving Sandor a look that begged forgiveness and that he help her find her sister.

"My lady," Brienne said, standing before Sansa, "Do you have any idea why your sister might have ran away? Anywhere in particular she might have gone?"

Before answering, Sansa gave a nervous look at Sandor. She could hardly tell Brienne the truth; there was no knowing how she would react, and besides she certainly wasn't ready to tell anyone else. It was bad enough that Arya had seen.

But now she was gone, with no notion as to where she had run, Sansa couldn't escape the sense of emptiness that hung around, despite having Sandor near her. Even when they had been brief hostages of Greyjoy's, Sansa had known Arya was near and that they were being brought back together. When they had been parted on the road, she knew that Brienne was with Arya and watching over her. But now they were surrounded by people that they didn't really know in the slightest and Arya had gone missing because of her own actions. Sandor wouldn't want to go after her, not after how Arya had attacked him. They had rushed through the trees along the stream for what seemed like hours calling after Arya until Sandor had insisted they double back to the camp and raise an alarm.

Brienne had instantly blamed Sandor, verbally attacking him even more violently than she had before, calling him a traitor and lying dog. She probably would have taken him by the neck if Sansa hadn't come between them, pleading for Brienne to stay calm.

"She wouldn't have cut you without cause." Brienne had muttered, before asking someone outside to tell Asha Greyjoy what had happened.

And now she was demanding outright a reason.

"I was just walking the little bird through the woods when we came upon her. She was practicing her bloody swordplay and caught me in the arm. When I tried to grab her and make her apologise she ran."

Brienne's face was cold at first and then filled with contempt, and eventually pure hatred. Before anything could happen however, Asha's voice filled the tent.

"I've sent a few scouts out to comb the woods," She walked tall and spoke simply as if nothing was wrong. _It's not as if she has anything to lose. _"When your sister is found she'll be brought back to you immediately."

"Thank you." Sansa said stiffly, focusing all her attention on Sandor's cut, despite it being perfectly clean and wrapped now. Brienne was stood by herself, one hand tense on her scabbard. Sansa looked over at her, and suddenly she knew what the Maid of Tarth was thinking.

"I'm going to look for Lady Catelyn's daughter." And with that, Brienne was out of the tent in three long strides.

* * *

Arya could feel the dryness in her throat. She needed a drink. There was a stream back where she had left Sansa and the Hound, but she didn't want to go back there, not yet. Climbing into a tree as quick as a snake, she made a slightly uncomfortable bed for herself among the entwining branches. _  
_

The sky was beginning to darken. As she looked up at it, Arya thought she could briefly make out the wispy trail of the red comet that had once streaked across the heavens. She could remember overhearing that it meant revenge for her father's death. The minute the face of Eddard Stark entered her mind she could feel tears welling up in her eyes. She angrily brushed them away, wondering how Father would have reacted if he had seen Sansa and the Hound the way she had. _He would have heard Sansa's side of the story before gutting the Hound. _But would he? She had wanted to run Needle through the Hound's back before he had a chance to turn, teaching him that was what happened when he made the wolves of Winterfell do things they didn't want to. _But Sansa wasn't struggling… _

"Arya?" There was the sound of hooves far below, the voice belonging to Brienne of Tarth. "My lady?"

"_I'm not a lady!" _Arya shouted so loud the birds who had made their homes in her tree took off in fright. The branches and leaves around her shook so violently it was as if the tree itself meant to throw her out, like another person who didn't want her.

"Neither am I," Brienne replied, in a slow and understanding voice, "Will you please tell me why you ran away?"

"_Because of the Hound!" _Arya could feel her voice breaking. She leapt down from the tree without properly noticing how high it was, and the ground rushing up to meet her gave her awful blows of pain in her feet, which only served to make her more angry. "He killed Mycah and he had Sansa up against a tree, he wanted to kiss her! And she wanted to kiss him back, I know she did! _I know she did… she'd rather be with him than me and I'm family!_"

Brienne swung down from her horse and came to kneel in front of Arya. When Arya looked up at her she could see a look of horror on her face.

"Tell me true," She said gently, "Are you sure that is what you saw?"

"Sansa wasn't trying to fight him in any way," Arya nearly screamed, "_She wanted to kiss him!" _

Brienne placed her large hands on Arya's shoulders, and the young wolf felt a sense of comradeship in that moment that she had not felt even with Gendry.

"Sansa is a woman, Arya… she is heir to Winterfell and she can make her own choices. You have no idea how angry I am at the Hound but I will speak with her before approaching him. He swore himself to her as I did. But I will not let this go unnoticed." Brienne sighed then, and Arya could sense that she was preparing herself for a heavy weight burden to carry. She paused slightly before saying wearily, "It is not up to us to tell Lady Sansa whom she loves, but we can at least protect her should she need it."

Brienne's words held Arya tight. As they slowly made their way back to the encampment Arya began to let her voice of reason take hold even more.

_Brienne is right. I can only let Sansa make this decision. Winterfell is more important than who she wants to kiss, anyway. _

_Yes, but he _did _kill Mycah…_

_Whom I only knew briefly. I left him out of the names before because I didn't want to kill him. _

And that small truth hit her then as she clung on to Brienne's back.

_I didn't want to kill him. _


	13. Chapter 12

But my goodness, this is short... just trying to clear up most things before the plot actually continues to move in what I hope is the right direction...

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Chapter 12:

There was an uncomfortable silence surrounding the encampment as it slept, preparing itself for the ride ahead to Winterfell. Despite the men who were outside taking turns on hourly patrol shifts, there seemed to be no noise anywhere, which unnerved Brienne more than she liked to say. The four of them, Arya, the Hound, Lady Sansa and herself were all sharing one fair sized tent. It was comfortable enough, with beds for each of them and small tables for plates of fruit to sit on, which was about the same that every tent ever belonging to someone of high importance had, she had noticed in her own military history. Arya was curled among her blankets like a pup clings to its mother shortly after it has been born, her fists clutching the material with an unusual ferocity for sleep. She had been awake for a while, but eventually her eyes had slid shut and Brienne had silently promised that she would stay awake and keep watch. Sansa had been asleep when they had returned, her tears still dampening her cheeks. The Hound was lying silently in the bed next to Sansa, facing her. Brienne had been watching him for seemingly hours. When he moved, so her hand did subconsciously toward her scabbard. It was that silent movement that made him turn over and face her to speak.

"I said it when we met, Bitch of Tarth," His voice was lower than Arya's breathing, "And I'll say it again. Why bother?"

Before Brienne made any response, she remembered her words to Arya, saying she wouldn't confront him before she'd spoken to Sansa. She looked over to Arya, and then Sansa. No movement from either of them. As large as man as he was, he could be quiet when he wished. Much like herself, she supposed. In a cautious whisper she said:

"I swore a vow."

She heard him make a small laugh of contempt. He turned on his side to face Sansa once more. It was almost too dark to make out, but Brienne could have sworn she saw some of the tension in his muscly arms soften as his focus came back to Lady Sansa.

"Bugger your vows. I protect her. Nothing else."

There was a hard tone in his voice that told Brienne he meant _no one else. Regardless, a vow is not a thing lightly broken. _

"If you hurt her," She finally whispered, "I will cut your throat."

"If I hurt her," The Hound replied, "I'll do it myself."


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13:

Amongst the Greyjoy and Stark forces, hidden on the very edge of the Wolfswood, all was frighteningly still. Out there was Winterfell, standing alone on the rising and falling hills as it had so for all of its years. Sansa could remember seeing it when Asha had found her to tell her it was in sight after riding. Every man had been commanded to dismount and walk on foot, keeping as quiet as possible to prevent anyone inside Winterfell raising an alarm. The strength of the forces was concealed behind the trees and bushes, lying in wait the way a direwolf would.

"There." Asha had pointed, and Sansa had looked without needing her direction. Winterfell was there, and there it would stay. "We will wait for a cover of darkness, and then you can move forward to pass beyond the walls unseen."

Sansa listened only half attentively, for she could not stop staring at Winterfell, as if the minute she turned her gaze elsewhere it would vanish. The walls rose in their ancient grandeur stretching around forever, the courtyard and the great hall, towering above the hot springs the castle had been built over. Thinking of the springs had made Sansa remember her Mother's bedchamber and how toasty warm it had always been, and how Father had declared the Starks were made for the cold. _I think you were mistaken, Father. We were made in the cold, yes, and we can abide it where others cannot, but we were not made for it. I was not meant to live a cold life, not with so many to warm me. _

Where she was now, in the Wolfswood with Sandor and Winterfell so close, was the warmest she had felt since fleeing King's Landing. She had her arm wrapped around Sandor's as they walked silently together through the stillness. He knew as she, Arya and Brienne did that when dusk came they would need to be ready to move out of the safety of the trees and into the bleak, open vulnerability of the grass between them and Winterfell. Sansa had wanted these last few hours alone with him, and no one else. She had made sure Arya was with Brienne before asking Sandor to accompany her into the forest, and the Maid of Tarth had said quietly into her ear:

"My lady, I must know. Can you trust him? For I do not, no matter how your words try to sway me."

"Yes, Brienne, I can. He won't hurt me."

In a way Sansa had become tired of explaining it. She had once been too afraid of Sandor Clegane to look at him, but after what had transpired between them she knew she had no cause to. As they were now, calmly walking and peaceful the way her parents had once been, she knew this was how she wanted her life to end, and also with the knowledge that her true home was near and open to welcome her back into the safety of its walls. She remembered the panic of her thoughts from only a few days ago when she had been trying to think of something to say to Sandor, and almost wanted to laugh.

A silence for them was like their own language. And now within that she wanted their own actions. As they were walking she gently came to a stop, making him halt his own pace. She could hear him taking one of his long deep breaths as he turned slightly to look at her, take her in. Simply the sound of that made her own breath shorten. Taking one long, unbroken look at him, drinking in every part, she then reached up and took his face in both her hands. When she gently kissed him, she could feel his hand hold her chin with a few of his fingers. The longer it lasted, the harder their kiss became, and soon they were entwined around each other and Sansa could feel her chest tighten with excitement.

Her mother had only spoken with her lightly about what occurred between a man and a woman on their wedding night, and when she had gossiped with Lady Myranda whilst descending from the Eyrie she had not been able to talk boldly without blushing. But with Sandor she found herself uncaring. With Sandor she found herself taking his hands forcefully in her own and placing them on her hips as he moved her back against a tree like before. She could feel heat from his body passing into her as they kissed. That heat began travelling downwards until she began to ache between her legs. As Sandor pressed himself against her she could feel a hardness coming from between _his _legs which would have made her jump back had she not been against a tree. _Why is it always against a tree? Quite the wildling, aren't you? And with Winterfell so close! _The thought of being this way with Sandor in her own bed in Winterfell made her want to giggle. _When home is yours again it can be like this whenever you want. You know he won't object. _She gave a small sigh against his mouth and kissed him harder, if that was at all possible. He then buried his face in her hair, which was undone every day now, and his mouth was at her neck. As she slowly opened her eyes, she could make out between the leaves and greenery the sun slowly sinking beyond the silhouette of Winterfell. _Now comes the feast, and after that the greatest dance of all. _


	15. Chapter 14

Enjoy! Probably won't be able to publish tomorrow, what with work and dining out for Mother's day, but a few ideas might pop into my head as I am telling someone to have a nice day on the tills. :)

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Chapter 14:

Asha Greyjoy was writing on parchment when Sansa and Sandor approached her with Arya and Brienne. As the sun had nearly completely gone down she was scribbling in a hurry, for Greyjoy had ordered no light anywhere in the encampment in order for complete camouflage. Before Sansa could make out who it was addressed to, she stamped it with the seal of House Greyjoy and gave it to one of her men to attach to a raven.

"It should follow close to the one we sent last night," She said to him before he left. She gave no hint as to who was receiving these ravens, but all Sansa could focus on now was the impending task ahead, and its overwhelming difficulty. She knew she was going back to Winterfell, but in King's Landing she had dreamt that her return home would be more beautiful and _safe, _above all_. _The fear of what Lord Bolton would do were they discovered inside the castle filled her with fear, even more so when she had overheard the men whispering about what his bastard was putting Theon Greyjoy through. What else could have prompted his sister to come looking for him? She thought of her sister and all her fierceness, and of Nymeria, the wolf and the legend, storming new lands with her ten thousand ships. _She had a fleet. So does Asha Greyjoy. One that was meant for the sea but has sailed inland. _She clutched Sandor's hand and tried to put thoughts of doom from her mind. As she was given a sword of her own to match her height and weight Sansa hoped she would stand as tall as he did.

_Heavens know his height would be useful._

When the hilt was placed in her hand she knew she must put being a lady aside for a while. It had been forged by Mikken, her father's own man, and he had put all of his loyalty and hard work into it as he had when Eddard Stark was Lord of Winterfell. The blade was not Valyrian steel, but it was of good make with a sharp edge and light touch when she swung it. Squinting closely at it in the fading light she could make out a small direwolf at the very top next to the scabbard.

_Heavens know I will need it. Perhaps I should give it a name. _

"Needle would have been a good name," She murmured to herself.

"_Mine_ is called Needle," Arya whispered back instantly, sounding almost like she had back home. Sansa ignored it with a smile and began to think of what had made her name her direwolf Lady.

_Her name was what I wanted to be. What do I want now? I want to go home. I want my family alive and around me. I want Sandor. I want Winterfell. _

"Wolfsong." She said the name in less than a whisper.

Sandor had been looking at her, she noticed, with the trace of a smile running from his good side to his burned side. As she squared her shoulders for what lay ahead, Sansa heard Asha Greyjoy giving her men the order for there to be absolute silence as the western sky was finally enveloped in darkness.

"Now you must go," Greyjoy mouthed. Leading them and two horses (she had felt all four would create too much noise) to the edge of the Wolfswood, she stopped just as the last ended. Beyond was the vast openness where anything could happen with no trees to hide them. As the four mounted, Sandor and Sansa on one horse, Arya and Brienne on the other, Greyjoy asked if they had any inkling as to which of the walls would be most likely to contain hidden entrances.

"There's one on the Southeast side," Arya said, "It's half hidden beneath the ground. It leads up into the crypts."

"If the Boltons are what the tales have told," Brienne whispered, "They will have no interest in keeping the crypts guarded."

"Let's bloody hope," Sandor muttered.

Asha Greyjoy stood before them. It was impossible to see in the darkness, but she wore a smile, that spoke gratitude and compassion that would have seemed unbefitting on a conqueror from the Iron Islands.

"Gods be with you." She said.

"Winter is coming." Sansa replied. Sandor and Brienne put their heels to the horses, and they set off. The shelter of the trees was much harshly cut off, and the stars were slowly unveiling to reveal an icy and bitter night. Sansa could see her own breath, but she kept one hand on Wolfsong's hilt, hidden beneath the fold of her clothes, and the other on Sandor's arm. She was enclosed in his arms as he controlled his horse, whereas Arya rode behind Brienne with her arms around her waist. The biting Northern air stung Sansa's cheeks but she could feel warmth from Sandor's body as the horses slowly broke into a quiet canter. Winterfell was gradually growing larger, looming ahead in the blackness broken in some parts by torches of nightly watches.

_Yes, _she thought, _Winter is coming. And so are the Wolves. _


	16. Chapter 15

Here we are, chapter 15 at last! What with the Easter holidays underway in the UK, hopefully I'll be able to update more regularly again, and who knows... maybe even finish!

* * *

Chapter 15:

She ran her hand slowly over the stone. It was only the very foot of the outer walls of Winterfell, but it was home just as her own chamber was, and the very feeling of being so painfully close made Sansa want to weep. _The last time I saw Robb and Mother, and Bran and Rickon was inside these walls. They are mine. They belong to me, as I do to them. _Before her memory could betray her she felt hands on her hips, warm breath on her neck and a rasp in her ear:

"Time for that later, little bird." Sandor gently ushered her forward. They had tied the horses right underneath the shadow of the wall and were now following Arya's lead, searching for the hidden entrance into the crypts blanketed by darkness. The feel of Sandor's hands of her hips made Sansa blush, but she was thankful no one could tell. She went to Arya who turned to her with a silent glare.

_Focus, if you wouldn't mind, _her eyes yelled. Then, turning back to the stone, she suddenly stopped. The other three held their breaths. Arya beckoned Sandor and Brienne to her, and soundlessly gestured for them to push. They placed their hands on the stone colder than the winter it stood for, and slowly it moved backwards. For a few seconds Sansa dared not hope that it led into Winterfell. With one look into the blackness beyond the stone she could have sworn she could make out a face. She half expected Joffrey to appear and say with a vicous grin,

"Going somewhere, my lady?"

The touch of someone's hand startled her. Arya was stood in the archway of the hidden door, a few steps below ground level, and was pulling her down. Taking one last look up at the moon, Sansa stepped down into home.

* * *

The light had been shut out of the Stark fortress. _I know we are Northerners and winter is coming, _Sansa thought, _but surely it has never been this cold. _As the four of them gingerly felt their way down the steps Sansa could see the crypts as if they were filled with light. The ground evened out, and she knew they were among the statues and the bones. _We are here. We've come home._

Father was down here now, as was Lyanna, the one King Robert had gone to war for. _It was because of that war that Father is down here in the first place. If Robert had never been King he would not have made Father his hand. _Then Sansa scolded herself. _Robert was a drunk but he was Father's friend. Joffrey is to blame. I hope he is not resting, wherever he is. _

A sudden glimmer appeared up ahead of them. Brienne took a silent step forward, her hand on her sword's hilt. Sansa wanted to run to Sandor and never let go of him, but he was stood next to Brienne as if they were two soldiers, ready to draw his own sword. _For all their slandering and insulting they do make a formidable pair._

"The light is just coming from the yard," Arya's whisper made her flinch in the darkness, "I don't think anyone's coming down here."

"Nevertheless…" Brienne's voice was nearly inaudible as she and Sandor crept forward. The girls came slowly behind them. Sansa took a look at Arya and saw she had drawn her sword. Without realising she had placed her own fingers on Wolfsong's hilt. The grip was good and it was the perfect size for her hand. _Father chose well the day he made Mikken a smith of Winterfell. _

"Where would Greyjoy be?" Brienne whispered. They were now at the bottom of the steps leading upwards.

"The dungeons most likely," Sansa replied. With a silence more uneasy than that of a snake, they began the ascent up to the world. Sansa glanced back at the monuments of her ancestors. _When I next come down here it will be as the Lady of Winterfell. _

* * *

They came upon the two direwolf statues that guarded the entrance to the crypts. Sansa looked at the snarling, frozen teeth and for the first time understood their viciousness. She couldn't help staring at them and then at all the walls and balconies and fires and then imagining a direwolf sigil flying above them. _It will happen. I will make it happen._

She and Arya led Brienne and Sandor along the side of the yard, hidden under shadows and behind crates, keeping away from the light of the patrol's fires. Sounds of music and roars of laughter came from the direction of the great hall. There were Bolton men scattered along the upper walls, and some watching over the open space of the yard the way Lord Eddard Stark had done the day he had learnt King Robert was on his way.

_They dare to Lord it over Winterfell. Their very sigil is a man bound to a cross. They were meant to be imprisoned. _

Sansa suddenly felt Sandor's hand on her shoulder, telling her to go no further. She looked in the same direction as he to see Arya creeping onward, and knew she was seeing if it was safe to continue. Sansa focused on Sandor's hand on her shoulder and tried to calm herself. They were making good progress. At this rate they would reach the dungeons without any kind of trouble. But if Theon wasn't there…

Arya suddenly gave a small yelp. Sansa felt her throat seize up in fear. Peering out from where she was hidden she could see a Bolton guard had spotted Arya and was now chasing her. Brienne was upon him before he could get out a whole shout for help, and he made a terrible choking sound as she slit his throat from behind.

"_Down there!" _The yell shot through the night. Sansa knew they had been spotted. She drew Wolfsong only to find her hand trembling. _I am no warrior. What was I thinking? _Sandor suddenly gripped her arm and was yanking her along towards Brienne and Arya.

"We'll have to split up," Brienne said suddenly. The thud of boots on the wooden upper levels told them guards were quickly approaching.

"_No!" _Arya nearly screamed. Sansa could feel her heart pounding violently in her chest. Wolfsong was cold in her hands. _I am a Lady, not a fighter. Why am I holding a sword? I was not meant to have one! _

"We must," Brienne was saying, "The girls should search out Theon Greyjoy, they know Wintferfell better than you or I, Clegane."

"Alone with these Bolton pricks running around?" Sandor spat, "You want them to get caught?"

"The Stark daughters are wolves, and look at those swords," Said Brienne, "No one is catching them."

Time was running out. If Sansa and Arya were going to chance a run to the dungeons, it had to be now. "We are their shields," Brienne's voice was stern but urgent, and Sansa knew the argument was won, "We give our lives for theirs by the old gods and the new."  
"Piss on that," Sandor replied, "I'll give my life for her because she deserves better, not because of some buggering god."

_But there is no one better, _Sansa wanted to shout, however sense held her tongue.

"Run my ladies," Said Brienne boldly, "Find the Greyjoy boy. We will hold them off. Get out the minute you have him and make for the Wolfswood. Asha Greyjoy will do the rest."

Sansa could feel a tear coming into her eye. _For god's sake you are a wolf! Stop crying like a child and take back your home!_

She looked back at Sandor, wanting to kiss him desperately, but fought against it. She grabbed Arya by the wrist and together they ran.


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16:

Sansa and Arya Stark fled through the yard and down endless corridors, dangerously close to the hall with the sounds of swords and screams of death following them. They did not whisper a single word to each other; both of them knew these halls and could walk through them in their sleep. Neither of them trusted the fact that the place was empty- Roose Bolton had every man at the feast it seemed, only bothering to install guards outside.

_Surely Theon will have guards. He is a Greyjoy, he must have value as a hostage? _As they drew closer to the dungeons, Sansa held Arya's hand tighter and tighter until Arya pulled it away. In order to calm her nerves Sansa held Wolfsong in both hands.

"Only use one hand." She heard Arya whisper.

"What?"

"The sword must be part of your arm. You only need one hand for it."

Sansa took a deep breath, tempted for a second to say that it didn't matter, surely. But then she told herself to be quiet, and gently let go with one hand. But of course, Sansa was not accustomed to handling swords. _I should have asked Sandor to show me how to use it. If we are going to cut our way to Theon, Arya would probably have better luck on her own. _

* * *

They had arrived at the dungeons, and discovered to both their amazements, that they were not guarded. Whilst that was surprising, Sansa's heart sank. _Theon can't be here. He's worth too much as a prisoner. _They pushed open every door and unhooked every latch, but to no success. Theon was nowhere to be seen.

"Perhaps Asha was mistaken?" Arya suggested, "Maybe the Boltons took Theon somewhere else?"

"I think they would want to keep him close…" Sansa murmured, lifting the latch on the final door they could find. As it slowly swung open her heart suddenly leapt. She could hear breathing coming from within. There was almost complete darkness in this pathetic little cell. She reached up and lifted the torch from its hook. She had to squint to make out what was in the centre of the small room, but she could tell it was something large and cross-shaped. _The sigil of House Bolton. A man suspended on a cross. _And there was definitely a man bound to this large shape. She smelt Theon Greyjoy before she saw his face. It wasn't even possible to describe how awfully he stank. His skin was sunken, almost hanging off his bones and his face was hollow and lifeless. _He's not dead, thank the Seven. Asha would abandon this whole thing if we brought back a dead brother. _

Closing the door behind them, Sansa and Arya cautiously approached him. The smell worsened with each step. It would appear he hadn't even heard them enter.

"Theon?" Sansa asked quietly. The shell of Theon Greyjoy shuddered, and then he spoke in a cracked, terrified voice void of hope:

"My name is Reek."

"Reek?" Arya said.

"It rhymes with freak. You have to remember your name."

_Seven save him. He's mad. _Sansa stepped closer, holding the torch as close as she could without the flame burning him. The light did no favours to his face. His eyes were two lifeless shapes on his face without any colour, and his hair was stuck to his head in a gruesome substance that was nothing like she had ever smelt. Both the girls could tell by his harrowing thinness that he wouldn't be able to walk unaided. An unpleasant task that Sansa didn't want to think about quite yet.

"I'm Sansa. Do you remember me?"

There was a flicker in those eyes that had once been full of life and arrogance.

"Reek doesn't know anyone called Sansa. _He _did, once."

"_You _did. And your name's not Reek. You're Theon of house Greyjoy, our father Eddard Stark raised you with Robb and Jon, our brothers. I'm Sansa, and this is Arya. You remember us, don't you?"

Theon raised his head. His neck made an awful snapping sound, as if his body was a rusting old device that had been cranked back to life after years of rotting.

"You remember your name…" His voice was barely more than a choked whisper. Arya stood on her toes to tell him:

"We'll get you a drink once we get you back to your sister."

There was something more in his eyes now. It was recognition. "Asha Greyjoy. She's come all the way here to save you and take you home."

"Sister?"

"_Yes. _Your sister, Asha Greyjoy. She's waiting for you. You are coming with us."

Arya had begun sawing through his bonds with Needle. Sansa grimaced as she drew nearer, ready to catch him should he fall. When Theon's ankles were free he began to slowly wriggle them. When his hands were free he brought them to his face and began to sob. Sansa could remember him back when Father was alive, if she tried. He had always been by Robb's side, boasting of whatever girl he had bedded recently. Now he was a ruin of a person. Both she and Arya were astonished to see he could stand by himself. He put his hand on Arya's shoulder as he struggled to walk. Sansa poked her head timidly around the door to make sure no one had appeared. They were still safe.

_Can the same be said for Sandor and Brienne? _The screams they had heard could have come from anyone. As Theon came up next to her, swallowing every deep breath that he had, Sansa thought of Sandor's last kiss on her lips.

"Arya, take Theon back to his sister. Send in her men. I'm going to look for Sandor and Brienne."


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17:

Arya had argued at first, saying that she wouldn't be able to take care of Theon on her own.

"You've been taking care of yourself since we last left home," Sansa had replied, "A Greyjoy will be no problem for you."

Arya had still refused, saying this was something they needed to do together. But Sansa had stood firm. "No. Sandor and Brienne could be in trouble. It's the least I owe them, after everything they have done for us."

"If it's fighting they're struggling with, _I'd _be better going to look for them."

"Arya… we haven't got time to stand here arguing, will you please just do as I ask. Just once."

There had been a frightening silence between them then, with Theon blankly staring at the two of them as if they were speaking another language. Arya had given Sansa a scornful look, and then threw her arms around her.

"Be careful."

"Winterfell will be ours again come morning."

And just like that, Sansa was alone. Arya was gone, with Theon following her like a dog follows his master. With her sister gone the darkness seemed larger and more real, somehow. Not even placing her hand on Wolfsong's scabbard could calm Sansa. She thought of Sandor, and that maybe he needed her. This time it could be her saving him for once, not the other way round. She went in the opposite direction that Arya had gone. There was more than one way to get in and out of the dungeons, some more secretive than others. Once she was outside, she decided to make her way back to where they had separated into pairs. Creeping through the darkness she could once more hear crashing noises from the Great Hall. This time they were singing.

_I wonder, were they singing at the Red Wedding? _The sudden thought of Mother and Robb caught her off guard. Everything of her old life came back to her then, and she couldn't help but sink to her knees in a corner of complete blackness. It had been Roose Bolton who had put the knife to Robb's throat, she had heard. But then again all sorts of awful whispers were said about what had really happened at the Twins. _Either way Roose Bolton is going to die. _

As she crouched in her small nook thinking thoughts of vengeance and wolves howling, she could have sworn she heard the sound of pounding hooves.

_Surely Arya could not have made it back to the Wolfswood so soon? _

A man on a horse suddenly came into her view. Crouching forward slightly, she tried to guess if he was a Bolton, Stark or Greyjoy man. As he turned the horse, which gave a disagreeing whine, Sansa could swear she saw a cross emblazoned on his armour. She put her hand on the edge of a crate, which began to wobble. It could take her weight for a few more seconds; she just had to be sure…

It gave way with a crash. Splintered wood went flying and the horse reared in fright.

"_Hey you!" _He had seen her, and her stomach lurched in fear.

Sansa scrambled out from her hiding place and tried to run, but he was off his horse in an instant and suddenly had her by the hair.

"What have we here?" His voice was grainy and his breath was foul. The feel of it on her neck made her squirm, which made him tighten his grip. As he began to drag her away she ran through everything in her head in a panic.

_He'll take you to Bolton. _

_He'll rape you first. _

_Not if you kill him. _

She began to struggle. He slammed a hand across her mouth.

"You'll come with me without a fuss." He sneered.

_If I get free and scream, it will alert more Boltons. _

_If I kill him, he'll scream and alert more Boltons. _

She tried to reach around for Wolfsong, which she now cursed herself for putting away. As she felt her fingers close around the welcoming hilt the man suddenly gave a choking gasp and she felt blood spurt onto her back. She whirled around, yanking her sword out as she did. There was anger and terror in his eyes as he tried to lunge for her. She clutched her sword and Wolfsong howled. She could almost feel his insides twitching and bursting as she slowly withdrew the blade and he fell, to show Sandor standing behind him with his own sword covered in blood. The very sight of him made her heart sing. Without even thinking she stepped over the body between them and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. It simply made sense that it should be Sandor who had come for her. It had always been Sandor saving her, and when this was all over, she knew she would never let him go again. He took her by the hand and they fled.

"How did you find me?" She asked, as shouts and the sound of drums filled the air, "Where's Brienne?"

"With your sister," Sandor replied as he pulled her along, "She and the Greyjoy ran into us and Brienne said she would take them back and raise the alarm whilst I found you."

As they moved in and out of pillars and past the statues of the direwolves Sansa realised it was the first time Sandor had called Brienne anything other than the Bitch of Tarth. Which was when she realised they had just ran past the crypts. However, as it dawned on her that they were heading for the Godswood of Winterfell, the fact did not trouble her. She was with Sandor, who would kill for her and who had time and time again.


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18:

_Fear cuts deeper than swords._

Arya would need that familiar comfort over and over before the night was through, she knew. Theon Greyjoy was a wheezing, staggering bother to keep quiet. The number of times they had nearly been discovered was one that must not be allowed to grow any more. She had only seconds ago leapt up onto a man's back and slit his throat from behind before he could shout that Greyjoy was out of his cell.

She kept Needle pressed to her side, although once or twice she had let the blade glint in the moonlight, transfixed by its ray. It glistened with the blood of the enemy, which felt good on the end of Needle, where it belonged.

They were nearly at the crypts. All they needed was a moment and they could run.

_Sansa should be with us. She should know Brienne and Sandor can look after themselves. What was she thinking? What was _I _thinking letting her go alone?_

"Arya." Theon's voice made her squirm. As if some passing God had heard her, there they were, Brienne and Sandor, both bloodied and both alive.

"Where's your sister?" Sandor snapped.

"She went looking for you two when you didn't turn up." Arya snapped back.

"I trust this is the Greyjoy brother?" Brienne looked at Theon with suspicion, who took one upward glance at her and averted his eyes, terrified that she would hit him. Of course Arya had no real idea of what Ramsay Snow had inflicted upon Theon Greyjoy; as conceited as he had once been he was now lost in between reality and a nightmarish dying state, never trusting anything that could have possibly been good.

"What the hell were you thinking letting her go off on her own in this place?" Sandor hissed at Arya, who wanted to reach up and hit him.

"This is our home," She told him firmly, remembering Needle at her side, "Sansa knows it better than you. She'd be able to find you in minutes."

"Then where is she?" Brienne asked. "She must be found, and Theon Greyjoy must be taken to his sister. She must make the move on Winterfell."

"I'm the girl's shield," Said Sandor.

"Then you find her and we'll take Greyjoy to his sister." Brienne briskly ordered, and before Arya could react she had Greyjoy by one wrist and was leading him away. Arya remained behind for a moment before looking at Sandor with uncertainty.

_Go, _his expression told her, and she was reassured that Sansa would be found safe. She ran lightly after Brienne and Theon, her feet not making a single sound.

There were more men coming their way. Light had been spotted on the edge of the Wolfswood, and they were preparing for battle. As Brienne was in her armour, whenever one walked past they initially ignored her, taking her for another soldier. Whenever one did make a double take at Theon Greyjoy clutching her arm and the girl running beside Arya would pounce like a cat and sew him with her Needle.

"These are not the first men you have killed, I take it?" Brienne asked quietly as they came to the stairs of the crypts. Arya went down immediately without answering. She knew that the Maid of Tarth, of all people, would understand.

They lead Theon through the darkness with ease and soon Arya was pushing on the hidden door and going up into the grass. The fields were already filling with Bolton forces readying for a fight. As Arya stared at them she knew she should not be here.

_I am a good fighter in small spaces, how Syrio taught me. I am not trained for field combat like this. But then again I'll bet none of this lot are as swift as a deer, with their huge bulking armour._ She remembered the day Lord Tywin had ridden out of Harrenhal and how she had watched the horses charge away with the Crimson of House Lannister above. She had wanted to ride her own horse and crush them all into the dust. Now, here taking Theon back and bringing the Wolves back to their own home she was going to, in her own way. As she, Brienne and Theon made their way back to the horses she realised that they wouldn't be able to ride past the Bolton men without being shot down or someone recognising Theon.

But ahead across the moonlit field Arya could make out the silhouette of running men.

_Asha is sending them in early. We haven't got Theon back to her yet. _

_Just be grateful. You can ride past undercover of combat. _

As the Boltons raised a deafening shout of defiance and determination to not surrender she mounted one horse, and Brienne and Theon mounted the other. _This is what Robb must have felt. He never lost a battle. This will be for him and for Father and Mother. Let the Wolves howl. Fear cuts deeper than swords. _


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19:

Sansa was still holding Wolfsong in one hand, like Arya had told her. By now Roose Bolton, wherever he was, had become aware that a force was moving out from the Wolfswood to attack Winterfell and men were beginning to leave the hall. Sandor had just told her they were already outside the walls of Winterfell so it was safer to stay in the Godswood until the battle was won. She knew that a part of him wanted to go out and kill any Bolton man he came across, but that a larger part knew to remain and protect her.

Something told Sansa that the Godswood had not been visited by many Bolton men since their occupation of Winterfell. There was something diminished about it, as if it had grown smaller since Father's death. As she remembered how the Godswood in King's Landing had been her one place of peace and comfort Sansa thought, _when Winterfell is ours I'll grow this wood so it stretches for miles around, and is impossible to destroy. _

They had come to the heart of the wood where Father had spent many of his days. The heart tree with it's pure white bark and blood red leaves was still standing, and for a fleeting second Sansa could have sworn there was the shadow of a man sat on the rock, shining his sword as the old gods watched over him.

As she stared at the leaves reflecting the moonlight, a sudden roar of men's voices could be heard from outside the gates of Winterfell. As she shuddered Sansa knew the Boltons were on the march. Yet outside she knew the Greyjoys and men loyal to Eddard Stark were coming to meet them.

_So why am I afraid? I have a sword emblazoned with the Sigil of my people and I have Sandor. _

As the ground began to tremble with the marching feet of forces approaching each other her fear began to grow.

_Arya is out there somewhere. I should be with her._

As if he had heard her thoughts, Sandor came to face her.

"Your sister is protected," He told her gently, "Don't worry, it would take more than an army to kill that bloody she-wolf."

"I should be out there with her," Sansa replied in little more than a whimper.

"How do you know she hasn't reached the Wolfswood? It would take more than a hoard of Bolton men to cut down that Tarth woman."

"I know Brienne would do anything to keep her safe, but still…"

Their conversation was stilled when Sandor gestured for her silence, and his eyes went immediately to the trees shrouded in darkness. There was undoubtedly someone there. A figure emerged from between the trunks, and Sansa's heart sank when she saw the cross of House Bolton on his chest. But there was an air of authority about this one. He had cropped hair and the face of an ageing man who had seen plenty of bloodshed and actually plotted most of it himself. As he looked at both of them in turn she could see his brow knitting as recognition hit him.

Clearly he had not been expecting to find anyone in the Godswood tonight.

"Joffrey's dog Clegane," Said this man in a voice that made Sansa shiver.

"Roose Bolton." Sandor's voice was rock hard.

For an unbearable moment there was silence broken only by the chaos outside the walls. Then Bolton's eyes fixed on Sansa, and he looked as if he had seen a ghost.

"Lady _Catelyn?" _He murmured. "It's not possible.."

Sandor attacked Roose Bolton, stabbing him in a craze. Before his opponent could even reach down for his own sword Sandor had driven his through Bolton's belly and his entrails were spilling out more and more in spewing blood each time Sandor pulled his sword out for another jab. Sansa shrank back against the Heart tree at first, but she clutched Wolfsong tight and looked down at the blood on its helm with an eerie calmness.

_He once told me killing is the sweetest thing there is. _

She looked up at Sandor and knew he was seeing the man who had took her by the hair. He was seeing the one in King's Landing who had tried to pull her from her horse and rape her. He was seeing Ser Meryn who had hit her and beat her bloody. He was seeing Joffrey who had given the order. He was seeing his brother who had held his face to the flame.

Sansa was seeing all of these men. She was seeing Ser Ilyn Payne as he swung the axe down on Eddard Stark's neck. She was seeing Queen Cersei telling her that tears were not a woman's only weapon. She was seeing Petyr Baelish as he forced his kiss on her and betrayed her Mother and pushed her deranged Aunt out of the Moon Door. She was seeing the men who had butchered Robb at Uncle Edmure's wedding.

_For that one moment, he is right._

Without any hesitation or fear she rose and walked over to Sandor, where Roose Bolton, the usurper of Winterfell, lay at his feet. She could see the blood spattered across the impaled cross on his chest.

"The Starks send their regards." She said coldly.


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20:

The distant thundering of marching feet frightened the horses, Arya knew. They would not want to go forward into the fighting but she could make them. She wanted to just charge into the throng of Bolton men, cutting down as many as she could, and then… she would pounce on those who had wronged her, all the names in her prayer, and using her teeth sharper than Needle she would tear into their flesh and feel the blood across her fur. She still dreamt of prowling silently through the Riverlands, her nose close to the ground, sharply following the smell of her prey. The scent of damp branches and the tiny sound of rain dropping from leaves was constantly in her ears. Her eyes were alert to birds perching at treetops hundreds of feet above.

_Nymeria has never truly left me. _

"Arya?" She heard Brienne say. Disappointed, Arya turned to look at her. "How do you propose we pass through the Boltons?"

Although Arya herself had no idea, she could feel herself warming to Brienne more and more. _She was probably told that she had to marry a lord and have sons as well. I wonder if she wants to be a wolf. _

Without answering, Arya gave a concerned look to Theon. He had not spoken since telling alerting her that Brienne and Sandor were close. He appeared to be leaning heavily against Brienne's back for support, which she clearly did not appreciate. They were still lingering by the hidden entrance to the crypts. Soon Bolton's men would be swarming all around the outer walls of Winterfell; Arya and Brienne both knew they had to move or risk discovery.

Looking over to the gathering lines of soldiers Arya suddenly knew something was amiss. They were not stood for battle like they should be. She didn't know how, but she could see their faces, and they were petrified. As she stared at them in bewilderment she realised how unusually warm it had gradually become. The men had been charging out of Winterfell bent on heading for the emerging figures from the Wolfswood, but now they were frozen. She could make out several that were even turning around and running for the safety of Winterfell, and even a few that were running forward even further towards the Wolfswood. It was only when she saw the source of the light and the sudden heat that came hurtling over the tops of the Wolfswood trees that she realised. She stopped breathing for a few seconds in sheer alarm. Brienne's horse reared up in terror, and in reaction so did Arya's. She, Brienne and Theon all went tumbling to the ground. Brienne leapt to her feet, her mouth gaping in pure disbelief. She was pulling Theon away into the safety of the hidden stairs, shouting for Arya to follow.

But Arya could not. She was rooted to the spot, her eyes wide. If she blinked, she knew what she was seeing would disappear. This could not be true.

_How? My eyes are playing tricks. It's a horrible joke. But how can it be a joke if it's so _real?

She had always believed herself as large and strong as a Direwolf, but now what she saw soaring above the flaming fields of Winterfell she knew _this _was strength. _This _was power. She could see the outstretched wings casting a shadow all across the countryside and eclipsing the moon. Glinting were the enormous eyes, blood red and merciless. The scales of the creature were blacker than the sky, reflecting off of the moonlight. The fire was stretching from the rising hills to the very gate of Winterfell and Arya suddenly realised, with an overwhelming joy, that the flames had not even touched her home. Across the fields the Greyjoy and Stark men were still standing, as unbelieving as herself. The world was suspended in the spell that the Dragon cast with every beat of his wings. As he glided to the ground and the silver haired lady descended from his back, his roar shook the earth.


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21:

Roose Bolton lay at their feet, still twitching as he entered death surrounded by his own blood.

_Could it really have been so simple and quick? _Sansa couldn't help but doubt he was dead. None of the songs and stories she had ever known as a child had ended so quickly with the death of the monster.

Sandor appeared to read her mind. She felt his arms come around her in the gloom and the coldness inside of her began to melt. Despite the comfort of his closeness she didn't like being trapped here in the Godswood when there was a battle about to be fought nearby. It felt too unnerving. Being entwined with Sandor was good for her, yes, but she was slowly beginning to become more excited in his arms when she knew she should be fearing for their lives. She could feel something surging within him and knew he wanted to kiss her. As he took her by the hands and lead her away from the body, deeper between the trees she understood that should Greyjoy's men fail this would probably be their last night.

Once more, Sansa found herself among the wilderness with the one they called the Hound yet she was kissing him as if he were the knight they sang of in the songs which had lulled her to sleep as a child.

_He tells me he is no knight but he has always saved me. He once told me knights are for killing, and he has killed every time I have been in danger. _

The shouts and roars of men preparing to fight outside the Godswood was becoming ever louder, and Sansa could feel herself beginning to tremble. As if in reaction to this Sandor began to kiss her even harder, and she felt her stomach tighten. She felt queerly light inside, and almost breathless as they sank to their knees. His grip on her intensified.

She could no longer hear the sounds of war. They were far away, as if all was still beyond the walls of Winterfell. All Sansa could hear was the pounding of her heart and feel the cold earth beneath her back and Sandor's hands in her hair and his mouth running down her throat, as if he wanted to devour her. Her hands were exploring, running across his chest and feeling the black hair beneath his undershirt. The next thing she knew his hands were running further down her body. Wherever his fingers went, her skin shivered in response, asking for more. Their bodies became tightly pressed together and Sansa wanted nothing more than to remain this way. None of the swords beyond the walls could hurt her.

_When I wake up from this dream Winterfell will be mine. So will he._

Her body suddenly gave a lurch, and she knew he was inside of her. His hot breath on her neck made her throw her head back, and she was staring at the stars. Their brightness was nothing compared to what she was feeling. It made her laugh to think that she had once wanted to be known as a great lady and be sung of and be rescued by a chivalrous hero. Only Sandor could fulfil the longings she had. A thrust harder than the previous sent a sensuous energy straight to her maidenhead and she couldn't help but gasp.

_Gods, I never knew such a feeling existed. This is what they should be writing songs about._

There was a slight pain between her legs, but every movement he made against her drove a force of pleasure straight through her which blocked it out. It was as if her body was shrinking back from the unknown sensation but then came back. As she curled into him she gave herself up to the fact that she would always be yearning for Sandor to give her what she knew she wanted, what she _needed_. 

A sudden light beyond him alerted her vision. Before she could properly see it the wind began to pick up, and the leaves were collecting all across the ground. Looking up Sansa could see the inky sky filled with fire, and for half a heartbeat she found herself back on the night of the Blackwater with Sandor's lips pressing down on hers. But this fire was not green. It was a stinging orange and yellow brighter than any flame she had ever seen, and weaving in and out of it was a looming black shape. Staring up at it her heart seized in terror as she thought Winterfell was to be burned. As powerful and strong that a Direwolf was, it would find this creature that had set the night sky alight an impossible challenge. She could not believe it. All her life Sansa had heard that those creatures were completely gone.

_Surely I must be imagining. The last one died hundreds of years ago. _

There was a deafening roar that crushed all other sound out of her ears, and she dug her nails into Sandor's back from the intensity. _If I am to die tonight it will be like this._ As he spent his seed inside of her she cried out, and kissed him with a fierceness she never knew she was capable of.

_That is the wolf inside of me. _

Sandor was aware that the sky was on fire now, and he suddenly looked up. He saw the flame and Sansa could see it in his eyes and on the burned side of his face.

He pulled out of her and though she didn't want to let him go she understood. He stood up, lacing up his breeches, and helped her to her feet. The two of them looked up across the edge of the Godswood. It was undoubtedly fire, and even though the roar they had heard could not have possibly been made by any other creature, Sansa had to see before she could finally believe. She held Sandor's arm and could feel his muscles beneath his sleeve were tense.

_He must have felt something like this the night of the Blackwater, when Stannis' fleet went up in flames. He could not have known he would come so close to fire again. _He was not looking at her. For a few minutes all that could be heard was the screams of agony drifting from the distance and the crackling of the flames. His eyes were fixed on the glow coming from over the trees. She gently cupped his burnt cheek. As his gaze moved slowly down to her, she gave him a light kiss on the corner of his mouth, just where the red skin began to descend into ruin.

_Come back to me when you're ready._ _I'll always be here._

* * *

Before either of them could say anything, they suddenly heard a high shout.

"Sansa!"

It was Arya, rushing through the trees, not even noticing the body of Roose Bolton, and throwing her arms around her sister. Sansa held her tightly, thankful she was alive.

"It was a Dragon," Arya was saying breathlessly, "It burned the Bolton men but left Winterfell completely unburnt, and all our men are safe!"

Nothing could register to Sansa but the fact that it had been a Dragon that had really won them their battle.

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Asha Greyjoy was in front of her now, giving her a weary but happy smile. She had two of her men with her, who were helping Theon to stand. Brienne was there also, and Sansa could not help herself; she threw her own arms around the Maid of Tarth. Obviously Brienne was not accustomed to such intimacy- she awkwardly patted Sansa on the back and took one step back. But she was smiling the warmest that Sansa had ever seen her.

"I could not believe what my eyes were showing me at first, my lady," She said, "But they saw it true."

A new face came forward then, one that Sansa had read about over and over whilst studying the great houses of Westeros. As she looked upon the violet eyes and silver-gold hair in wonder she knew this was the Dragon's daughter. This was Daenerys of House Targaryen. 


End file.
